


Elevators

by alvfr



Series: "Accidents" [2]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Accidental Sex, Boss/Employee Relationship, Come Swallowing, Cunnilingus, Elevator Sex, Exhibitionism, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Kissing, Nipple Play, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Power Imbalance, Public Blow Jobs, Public Hand Jobs, Reader-Insert, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Build, Smut, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, fem!reader - Freeform, no y/n
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 02:55:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30065580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alvfr/pseuds/alvfr
Summary: The dynamics have shifted between you and SSA Aaron Hotchner. Despite what happened, he's still your boss, and you're still the newest member of the team. Neither of you wants to threaten the integrity of the BAU.No matter how professional you try to keep it, the tension builds. It still takes three times in an elevator where you can’t seem to keep your hands off each other, for you to confront him.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Reader, Aaron Hotchner/You
Series: "Accidents" [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2211921
Comments: 75
Kudos: 129





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after "Turbulence" and I recommend you read it first. Slower build than the previous one in the series.  
> Enjoy!

First it was the performance review.

“Hey, do me a solid and take these up to Hotch.”

One hand rubbing your tired eyes, you glanced over at Morgan. He had the desk closest to you and now held out a thick folder. When you didn’t take it, because Morgan could very well walk up the stairs to Hotch’s office himself, he shrugged and gave you an easy grin.

“Seniority, new girl.”

“You’re seriously pulling rank right now?” you asked in disbelief, unable to keep the fatigue out of your voice. It was closer to midnight, the core-team of the BAU the only ones left in the building and it had been a hell of a week for all of you. 

After you returned from Arizona on your latest case, flying commercial because of routine-maintenance of the Jet, you had barely made it back to your apartment before the call came to report at HQ. No one had really left since then, taking turns to sleep on the couch in Hotch’s office or napping in the conference room. It had been a week, and you were all more than ready to get out of here.

While you and Morgan finished up the reports, Reid had resorted to slumping straight over his desk, pen still in hand to fill in the statement-forms. JJ had already left and Prentiss was typing furiously to get her own paperwork over and done with. No one would have questioned any delays just now, but everyone knew it was best to get the reports done straight after an event, while the memory remained fresh. 

Morgan, who had worked just as many hours as you but somehow still looked upbeat, winked. “Hey, gotta exploit the perks while I still got ‘em.”

You knew you could refuse him. There’d be no hard feelings, except maybe an extra sarcastic remark sometime in the future, but he would let you off the hook with no fuss. He didn’t need to know you were already done with your own reports and had secretly been waiting for him to go upstairs so you could casually ask him the same favor he’d just asked you. All in vain now. You didn’t want to give him — or anyone on the team — any indication that you _didn’t_ want to go up to Hotch’s office by yourself. Because you _did_ want to go up there, and at the same time you’d rather not. 

After the most interesting flight of your lifetime a week ago, where turbulence had literally thrown you onto Hotch’s lap and one thing had lead to another, you hadn’t been alone with him. After you had fondled and stroked and sucked his dick in the semi-public setting of the dark plane and he had brought you to a mind-numbing orgasm with his fingers, you hadn’t talked once about anything other than work. After you had literally swallowed his cum — your Unit Chief’s cum — and he had licked your wetness off his own fingers while you watched, you had simply not had the time to even think about all that had happened. 

And you knew for a fact that neither had he. Because if you had worked an inhuman amount of hours this week, he had probably somehow worked twice that. Even if that meant he had re-written some fundamental laws of quantum physics to achieve it because there weren’t enough hours in a day for everything he did.

Of course, as someone who was a part of this team, you could not avoid your boss forever. 

“Fine,” you relented and snatched the folder out of Morgan’s hands, stacking it with your own. You rolled your eyes at his satisfied grin and winced when placing your sore feet on the floor. Dress-code had lapsed the last few days, and you wore sneakers with no remorse, your boots kicked away somewhere underneath the desk. “But you owe me.”

Not catching his quick-witted reply, you trudged up the stairs towards SSA Aaron Hotchner’s spacious office. You’d been in there plenty of times this week, for the aforementioned sleep on the couch — you were pretty sure he only kept it in his office for that exact purpose — but never with Hotch in there at the same time. Last week had been brutal. It had been one of those ‘all-hands-on-deck’-cases where every part of available law enforcement with even a hint of jurisdiction stepped up and tried to take control. A federal clusterfuck as Rossi had called it. 

Domestic terrorism meant everyone from ATF to Homeland Security wanted to chime in and the BAU had been tasked to assist with profiles of the suspects and come up with a strategy to avoid the planned attack on a popular tourist attraction in one of the major US cities. So afraid of leaks, Hotch had to argue for hours to even find out _which_ city. So not only did you work around the clock to crack the case, Hotch spent half the time on in-house politics and navigating between conflicting interests just to make sure some hotshot in a different department didn’t make a rash call and potentially ruin all the work you’d done.

Even with the relatively happy ending — attack avoided, two suspects dead, three suspects arrested and three civilians wounded — the atmosphere remained tense. Someone higher up had ordered the BAU to assist without actually flying out, so all communication had been over the phone and video calls, which was every profiler’s worst nightmare. Thank God for Penelope Garcia, you thought, who had ensured the technical side at least went as smoothly as possible. 

So as much as you had thought you and Hotch could at least address what had happened at the plane, there simply hadn’t been time. And judging by the way he sat hunched over his desk when you reached his office, this wasn’t the time either. Pen in hand, ready to sign whatever document in front of him, he held his head up with the other hand and did not even look up when you knocked softly on the open doorframe. 

“One second,” he said in a gruff voice, and you nodded, lingering in the door, halfway in and halfway out. 

It would be lying to say you didn’t feel a rush in your stomach just by looking at him. It was like a switch had been flipped after that first time turbulence tossed you around in the Jet's kitchenette and you had felt his hard erection against you. It was like you finally noticed how handsome he was and despite your best efforts to avoid noticing during the work-hours, watching Hotch dominate a room without even needing to raise his voice did things to your insides you didn’t fully know how to describe. It felt like a new world, where you knew some intimate details about him — like how hard he had felt in your hand, how deftly his fingers teased and played with you, how he kissed… That last part still threw you for a loop. While everything else stemmed from mutual physical needs, the kisses — especially the last two soft kisses when everything was technically over — were something else. It changed things, but you still did not understand how.

All you knew was there were specific things happening to your body when Hotch looked at you — even with tired weary eyes like now. He nodded at the folders you held in front of you like a shield. “Those for me?”

“Yeah,” you said, somehow finding your voice when most of your brain was pre-occupied by noticing the instant spike in arousal just by hearing him talk. On stiff feet — but mostly because of exhaustion and not a growing dampness between your legs — you crossed the short distance from the door and placed the folders on his desk. “Mine and Morgan’s.”

Focusing on the folders, he spared you from his dark eyes and you could breathe a little easier. “Who’s left down there?”

“Reid’s asleep and Prentiss is pound- uh, typing away,” you said, stumbling over the awkward word which was technically only awkward because you kept mentally thinking of how Hotch pounded on his keyboard with his strong and capable hands. Hands that had made you come undone a week ago. “Also Garcia’s somewhere finishing up. Rossi and JJ already left.”

Hotch nodded and looked up from the folders — his gaze seemed to travel from you, to the open door, to you again and it almost looked like he wanted to say something. Almost, because he just gave a curt nod instead in response to your words. “Right. Great work this week.”

Your heart skipped at the praise even if he mostly addressed the folders and his tone was casual and business-like. Not cold, just passive. Normal. As if you hadn’t stared into his eyes while jacking him off just a week earlier.

“Go home, get some rest. Hopefully we’ll have some time off before the next call.”

He had to be the king of compartmentalization, you thought and struggled to retain the same professionalism. Unsticking your tongue from the roof of your mouth — your mouth that you’ve had around the head of his cock while he came — you managed to say: “Yeah, sure. How about you? Almost done?”

“Almost,” he said and his small smile, one usually reserved for the members of his team, sent a new round of butterflies inside of you. It was the same smile as always, before and after the whole plane-shenanigans, but it felt different now.

He stacked the folders you brought together and moved them aside to finish reading what you assumed was JJ’s summary of events. The movement shifted the other folders around on his cluttered desk and you couldn’t help but notice the one that clearly had your name on it.

Since profilers were nothing but attentive, Hotch saw where your focus went, and he cleared his throat. While it felt like you had caught him out on something, he did not seem too bothered and he took out the folder. “Your performance review is coming up.”

“Oh,” you said and chastised yourself for thinking he had your folder out for any other reason. Feet tired, you shifted where you stood in the middle of the office. “Okay.”

Hotch hesitated, his long fingers resting on the manila paper. “Well, it’s not coming up, it should have been completed months ago. Upper management has been chasing me for weeks to get it done.”

“Oh,” you said again, and tried to study him, looking for clues to his thoughts, but his expression remained completely neutral. Giving up trying to read him, your brows pulled together in puzzlement. “Why haven’t you mentioned it?”

Again, he glanced at the door behind you and you suddenly wondered if you should have closed it when you came in. Probably, since he lowered his voice slightly. “Because protocol dictates a closed-door meeting, and I didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position.” He put his intelligent brown eyes on you and it was sheer willpower that kept your jelly-legs from collapsing. When he spoke, it was with the slow and assured pace as when he presented a profile to local police. “I felt I might have overstepped my authority as your superior.”

You swallowed. He was not referring to the latest incident, but the time before that when turbulence first threw you in his lap and he ended up giving you an orgasm by simply sucking and biting on your stiff and sensitive nipples. The same ones you could feel responding to the memory and pushing against the constraints of your comfortable work-bra. That time you had been too shocked to even move, and it had never occurred to you how Hotch might have thought you were anything but a fully willing participant.

“There was,” you cleared your throat as this was the first time you had ever talked about this, “implied consent, sir.”

His eyebrow twitched slightly at the formal term of address — how many times had he told you to call him Hotch? — but his eyes darted briefly to the open door again before focusing on you in a way that made your heart race. “Certain scenarios demand explicits.”

“With all due respect, sir,” you said and tried to just keep breathing, “I’m a federal agent and can take care of myself.”

“And I am your supervisory agent and Unit Chief,” he countered immediately, “which is a role I don’t want to take advantage of. And please call me Hotch, _Agent._ ”

You licked your lips, suddenly dry as if all fluids in your body had traveled elsewhere just by having this conversation _here_ in his _office_ of all places. It was a new setting, not made easier by the awards and diplomas on display in the bookcase behind him. This was still your boss.

“You didn’t take advantage, sir- Hotch,” you corrected at his raised eyebrow, heart beating hard in your chest. “I am fully capable of asserting my own boundaries should the need arise.”

The seconds stretched on as he looked at you, something unreadable in his eyes. He eventually gave you a nod as if this was the conference room and you’d just brought up a useful contribution to the current case. “Good. You’re a valuable member of this team and it is important that you know my professional respect for you has never wavered.” His eyes dug deeper into you. “At _any_ point in time.”

You wondered how his professional respect would fare if he knew how many times you had brought yourself to climax while thinking about him. Instead of trying to come up with any sensible response, you nodded.

Hotch brought out the folder with your name on it, opened it and seemed to read from notes taken. “You have an impressive attention to details. A commendable ability to retain information, focus on the task at hand-”

Did his gaze flicker to you just then or was it just your imagination? Just your mind that immediately thought of where your hand had been a week earlier, around _him_ , stroking and rubbing him closer to finish?

“-and adapt easily to new situations _._ ”

Again a rush of heat to your stomach. His jaw had flexed as he said it, like he was doing his best to maintain that neutral expression the world knew best. Adapting to new situations was a nice way of putting what had happened a week ago.

“Sorry,” you interrupted, feeling you had to say _something_ to distract from any clues you might give him of your current state of mind, “are we doing the performance review _now?_ ”

He gave you a nondescript look. “If you don’t mind? It’s more a formality than anything else.”

It was closer to midnight, and you had both worked a triple-digit number of hours this week. Both valid points for postponing it even further, but you supposed you were equally at fault for his hesitance at doing this before.

“Do you want to do this at another time?” he asked when you hadn’t said anything. “I just thought it best to get out of the way. And I assumed you would,” a twitch of a smile, gone almost before you saw it, “assert your boundaries if needed.”

“No, it’s fine,” you shook your head and shifted again, wincing from your sore toes, “go ahead.”

Keeping his normal professional tone as always, he elaborated his points with examples from the cases you had contributed to the most. After less than a year in the BAU, the team’s caseload stayed consistently heavy, and you had racked up an impressive number of hours in such a short time. The memories of each case kept your mind from wandering to other less professional spaces, at least until Hotch finally closed the folder.

“Really my only concern about you,” Hotch said with a slight raise to his eyebrow, “is that you might come across as someone a little too comfortable with risks.”

“Risks?”

“Risks,” he confirmed and cleared his throat. “And in certain situations, that is an advantage. We don’t always have the luxury of gathering all the information before making a decision. It only becomes a problem,” there was a meaningful tilt to his head now, “when it jeopardizes the unit’s integrity.”

Something made it seem he wasn’t referring to rash decisions you sometimes made in the field. Still, with his neutral tone, it was hard to tell.

“There is a time,” Hotch continued, not giving you any reprieve from his perceptive gaze, “and _place_ for everything.”

What was that? An invitation? A reprimand? Your body went with the former while your mind stuck to the latter. A heat spread in your core and you wouldn’t be surprised if he could see both your hardening nipples and accelerated heartbeat under your shirt. You subconsciously licked your lips and your aforementioned attention to details couldn’t help but notice his eyes flickering down to your mouth.

“I understand, sir,” you said, while not in fact understanding the slightest. You really should have closed the door behind you so you could have talked openly. Was he even talking about the plane-events or your actual work performance right now?

“Hotch,” he corrected again, not unkindly, but you tried not to wince. It was a simple stress-response from your side, defaulting back to academy-jargon and Hotch would of course catch that immediately.

You nodded and tried to swallow without thinking what you had swallowed of his not long ago. For some reason, you sounded hoarse when confirming: “Hotch.”

Tension seemed to build in the few seconds it took for you to gather the courage to just outright ask him what he meant, but a swift knock on the doorframe made you visibly jump to the side. A flush of warmth spread in your face, like you had been caught doing anything more than just standing in Hotch’s office, but Morgan luckily didn’t seem to notice.

“Here you go, boss,” he said and crossed the distance from door to desk without waiting for permission. Hotch accepted the folder Morgan handed him and gave you a brief curious glance. One that Morgan caught, and he clarified: “It’s Garcia’s.”

You bit your lip to conceal the smile, but Morgan sighed as he straightened up. He gave you a tired look over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised.

“Come on, just say it.”

“She got you doing her legwork?” you asked immediately, smile widening. “Did she pull rank on you?”

You and Penelope Garcia were the only members of the BAU without the full SSA-title.

“Hilarious,” Morgan replied dead-panned and shook his head, although you saw his eyes crinkle. Sarcasm came with the territory with Derek Morgan and he gave as good as he got. “Gotta watch this one, Hotch, she’s got a mouth on her.”

“I’m well aware,” Hotch said drily, preoccupied with the files and you bit your teeth together to avoid gasping. The presumably innocent comment wreaked havoc with your body temperature. He should be well aware of your mouth, you thought, as he had experienced it firsthand. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Hotch to gauge if he had meant anything by it or not, even though you were desperately curious.

If Morgan noticed how you did your best to avoid looking at Hotch, he didn’t comment. Pausing in the doorway, halfway in and out, he tapped the wall with his palm. “We’re heading out for mandatory midnight pizza. Garcia’s idea, hence the ‘mandatory’. You guys gonna be long?”

Hotch shook his head, still speed-reading through the reports. “I just need a signature,” he looked at you, “and we’re done.”

“All right,” Morgan gave a nod and tapped the wall again, “meet you downstairs.”

His footsteps disappeared down the hall and you could hear him jog down the short set of stairs to the bullpen. Hotch cleared his throat to get your attention — a sound that now had way more sexual undertones than you felt comfortable with — and you turned back to him. He had opened the folder again and turned it so it faced you.

“You need to sign to confirm we have discussed the points listed,” he explained and you willed your legs to bring you closer to his desk. It was a sturdy mahogany desk, probably leftovers from the bureau’s hey-days, and uncharacteristically cluttered. Unlike Rossi, who had filled all available spaces with picture frames, Hotch’s desk didn’t contain any personal memorabilia. There were probably reasons for that, you thought, and leaned over to actually read the document he wanted you to sign.

Three words in and you became aware how you had placed both hands on his desk to alleviate your tired feet. The angle kept you mostly upright, but your mind filled with the idea of dropping down completely, laying your chest down on the smooth wooden surface and how the position would arch your back and push your ass up. It seemed like the perfect height if he were to circle your hips with his big strong hands and enter you from behind. His view would be the glistening wetness between your legs, the curve of your back, while you would grip the opposite edge of his desk, staring at his service awards and watching the paperwork scatter from the force of his thrusts.

There was a time and place for everything, you thought to break through the lusty haze of your mind, and it was not here and now. Clearing your throat, you decided to just trust Hotch’s words about the contents of the document and mumbled something about needing a pen.

As you looked up, you realized that even with the impressive width of the desk between you, you were a lot closer to Hotch than you had been in a while. He held up a pen for you, but did not let go of it when you grabbed it.

“Anything _you_ want to address?” he asked in a careful low voice and you again worried if he could read minds. Probably not, but as one of the best profilers in the country, he was adept at reading people. Had he somehow caught where your mind wandered just now? Had he entertained the same fantasy? Not trusting yourself to talk, you shook your head to his question, and he raised his eyebrow slightly. “Are you sure?”

Did he want you to address it? Had the ‘time and place’-comment not been a reprimand? Normally, you considered yourself pretty adept at reading people too, but SSA Aaron Hotchner was like trying to read an upside-down book across a room with binoculars.

He still held onto the pen and you swallowed at just noticing how your fingers were less than an inch from touching.

“One of my responsibilities,” his voice came so low it went straight to your core, raising the hair on the back of your neck, “as Unit Chief is preserving the team dynamics. The work we do require full dedication at all times without,” either a trick of the light or his eyes dropped to your mouth, “distractions.”

If he didn’t see the way your heart hammered, he had to hear it at least because you barely caught the end of his sentence through your own roaring pulse. And you wished his careful and commanding presence didn’t send a new rush of wetness between your legs, but it did.

“This means,” he continued when it became obvious you weren’t going to say anything, “a clear divide between work and leisure.”

That wasn’t a blatant rejection though, was it? It might have been your high levels of arousal, but it felt more like a slight reminder of your current setting. Not a definite dismissal of something similar to ever happen again.

“Does that mean I can’t file overtime for our flight back from Arizona?”

The joke slipped out before you had thought it through and you held your breath in anticipation for his reaction.

“I think I can let it slide,” he said with a small smile that made your insides tingle. “Just this once.”

Unable to help it, you returned his smile, trying to ignore the rising butterflies in your abdomen. You ducked your head to make it less obvious and tugged on the pen still held between you.

He maintained his grip on it and the movement had you leaning a bit more over his desk. Looking up you found his face even closer, his warm brown eyes giving you his full attention. “Nothing you would like to add?”

Aware of the strain in your remaining arm holding yourself up, you licked your lips and whispered: “No, sir.”

“No objections?” he asked again and he must have leaned in because you could feel the faint sensation of his breath on your face. “You’re sure?”

It was hard to tell if he was pulling the pen back or if you were just tilting forward, but the distance between you shrank with each heartbeat. Your arm quivered with the effort of not outright collapsing, your mind going haywire from looking at his face this close. Your boss’s face, in his office, with your colleagues somewhere outside an open door. “Yes, sir.”

“Hotch,” he corrected, when his warm soft lips were a hair width’s from yours.

“Hotch,” you repeated breathlessly and a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan disappeared into his mouth when he kissed you.

A slight scratch of the stubble accumulated from the intense workweek contrasted vividly with the softness of his lips, coaxing yours open to deepen the kiss. Like everything he did, it was with intense focus and a tingle ran from your lips down your spine when his teeth grazed your bottom lip. Not biting, but a slight quiver signaled his temptation to do so, and you subconsciously clenched your vaginal muscles together, aware of the heat and wetness building.

As you kissed, gently nudging your tongue against his, you became aware of how his grip on the pen shifted, his large hand now encapsulating your fingers too. Another rush of lust traveled your body as you ran your own digits over his, feeling the strength and dexterity. You’ve had them in your mouth, but never felt them like this. God, how you had fantasized about those fingers.

The pen dropped to the desk, momentarily forgotten, as Hotch accommodated your eagerness to explore his hand. Feeling those strong fingers between yours, sizing up the length, knowing how good they could feel either teasing your nipples, twisting gently or roughly, both equally delicious. Or rubbing your clit, over and over to the point where it almost became unbearable. You wondered how they would feel squeezing your ass while pulling you down onto him, or grabbing your hips as he slammed his full length inside, or just how his long fingers would feel inside of you, if he would know to alternate between hard and soft until you were left trembling and ready for him.

Lost in the heat of the moment, your supporting arm on the desk finally succumbed to the strain.

Instinctually, you slammed your other hand down to brace yourself, not thinking how that trapped his hand beneath before he let out a slight grunt.

With a shuddering breath, you pulled back to whisper against his lips. “Sorry.”

“You okay?” he asked, voice dark and soft at the same time and you realized his free hand had come up to support you, his palm and fingers splayed over the side of your ribcage. He probably felt the erratic beating of your heart. A rhythm or strength that did not subside when he did not move his hand. His muscles held you easily, and he did not show any discomfort for how you still crushed his hand underneath yours. Were you okay? You had no idea, but managed to nod weakly, the movement brushing your nose against his.

Again, you thought about how this would look if anyone walked in. You leaned over his desk, face impossibly close to his, and his hand on you, dangerously close to forbidden territory. This was your boss, you dimly thought and realized no one would believe this to have been an accident. Even you weren’t sure if it had been an accident or not. It had just happened. And you wanted it to happen more.

This time it was definitely he who closed the distance, giving you another soft open-mouthed kiss. Your breath hitched as his palm traveled up from your ribs to the side of your breast. His thumb brushed just barely against your stiff nipple straining against your shirt — it was too precise to be accidental and you lost another whimper into his mouth. Your head reeled when his hand lingered there for a second, running the pad of his thumb over the hard bud that sent fireworks of pleasure into your brain.

_“Hotch!”_

You jumped at Morgan’s shout, but Hotch’s face just snapped sharply to the doorway. Still empty. The shout had come from downstairs.

Hotch’s hand left your breast and traveled up to your shoulder as he turned back to face you. His breath tingled against your wet lips when he whispered, sounding strained: “Time and place, Agent.”

The pressure on your shoulder increased, helping you out of the awkward angle, and he rose with you so you both stood upright with the wide mahogany desk between you.

Trying to remember how to breathe, you only stared at him — SSA Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief, your boss — and noted all the minute details. The shimmer on his lips, wet from kissing you; the dilated pupils, making his eyes darker than usual; the contours of what had to be a growing erection in his black dress pants. You wondered how you looked in his eyes; if his eyes saw the way your nipples pushed against your shirt; how you took small shivering breaths through swollen lips; how your only coherent thought was about how good it would feel if he would bend you over the desk again, properly this time, and take you fully.

Morgan sounded impatient: _“Come on, it’s past midnight and we’re starving. Let’s go!”_

You had jumped again, but Morgan apparently had no intention of coming upstairs. Daring to look back at Hotch, he seemed to stare at the door a second too long before recalibrating back into his professional role. He cleared his throat and picked up the dropped pen, holding it out to you.

An olive branch? A silent agreement of secrecy? Or just a pen for you to sign the highly unorthodox performance review sheet? You took the pen no matter the intent — he relented it easily now — and hoping to at least catch any glaring mistakes, skimmed over the contents of the document before signing hastily at the bottom.

“Go ahead,” Hotch said when you pushed the folder back to his side with a questioning gaze. He was putting folders into his slim briefcase. “I just need a few minutes to,” he inhaled sharply, “pack up.”

“Okay,” you said and your heart went a mile a minute as he looked at you again, almost like he wanted to say something, but like before he just nodded. Almost gratefully, if you interpreted his minuscule signs correctly. You wondered if his few minutes to pack had something to do with the erection still obvious through his dark pants. Not that you were any better as you could feel your soaked underwear move against your mound when you went back downstairs to where Morgan and Reid sat on their desks, obviously ready to leave.

“Good morning,” you told Reid, who gave a small shrug, clearly too tired to care about any teasing. “Hang on, I gotta change shoes.”

It was hard to keep secrets from people who analyzed human behavior for a living and you welcomed the excuse to exchange your sneakers for boots, making sure to keep your head down until you were sure your lips looked less swollen. It was probably a good thing Hotch hadn’t bitten down, but now you did it yourself, trying to quell the arousal inside of you.

You vaguely answered Morgan’s exasperated comments about employee welfare policies and how you had to let Hotch know when he was being unreasonable.

Seeing the man in question descend the stairs with his briefcase and jacket in hand, you made sure to let Morgan know: “Don’t worry, I will.”

You thought you saw Hotch’s lip twitch.

The conversation flowed easily, as always when Reid was nearby and ready to fill any available space with his knowledge. Prentiss came out from the restroom with her coat over her arm, and decided to just hand Hotch her report directly, one he put in his briefcase with a quiet sigh. You snatched up your own coat before all of you filed into the elevator, not even Morgan suggesting a quick jog down the six sets of stairs for once.

A hurried pattern of high-heels approached, accompanied by Garcia’s voice: _“Wait, wait, hold the door!”_

Morgan, being the closest one, slammed his palm out to the sensor, but instead of waiting for the doors to fully open again, Garcia threw herself inside the elevator. Theoretically it could fit ten people, but it got crowded with only six of you in there and you took a step back to make room for her sudden entrance.

The movement sent you straight back against the bulk of Hotch’s firm body and his hand landed on your waist to steady you.

“Careful,” he murmured to the side of your head, so low you doubted anyone else could hear him, especially over the immediate bickering between Garcia and Reid. Just the sensation of his deep voice made your inner organs twist in anticipation. Except there was a time and place and it was not here or now.

His hand still lingered on your waist — it felt like he had dipped it in molten lava beforehand — before he slowly ran it down the curve of your hip. Brushing gently against the flesh of your buttock — you were sure he could feel how your inner muscles clenched — and then dropping it completely. You didn’t need to see his face to know it revealed nothing, that he was staring straight ahead just as you were. The very picture of button-upped professionalism.

Aware of just how close you were in the presence of your coworkers, you took a step to the side so you weren’t standing so much in front of him. All the while pretending to listen to the conversation going on around you, smiling and nodding whenever Garcia looked to you to agree with her.

Not really sure what to do with your arms anymore — or the rest of your body for that matter — you clutched your coat against you with one arm and let the other one hang loose to your side. Your breath hitched when you felt the side of Hotch’s bicep brush up against yours. It was innocent, accidental contact. Platonic and professional; nothing out of place for the close confines of the elevator.

Except now you felt a slight nudge at your fingers, his warm ones lightly brushing up against yours, and you realized there was not much platonic left between you. You remembered exactly how unprofessional things could get between you and SSA Aaron Hotchner and the secret knowledge filled you to the brim with something tingling and exciting. Keeping your gaze resting on the discussion upfront, you moved your fingers back, the soft pads of your digits tapping his knuckles — once, twice — before the elevator stopped at the ground floor.

“Finally,” Morgan said and stalked out first. “I’m starving.”

* * *

And that was it, for a while.

As Hotch had hoped, the whole unit got some well-deserved time off after the hell-week. And as you had sadly expected, there was no late-night visits from your boss no matter how much you fantasized about it. Just in case, even knowing the chances were slim, you went underwear shopping just to have something slightly more enticing than the practical stuff you usually wore. And still nothing. You tried to rationalize it, ending up overthinking it. Because even if the kiss in his office had been a last accidental fluke, the touches in the elevator seemed deliberate. Hotch did not seem like the kind of man who would string you along or play with you in any sense, so in the end you were at a loss to what was going on.

Hotch’s primary focus would forever be the team’s well-being. You could imagine he had come to his senses during the small break and figured an in-house relationship posed too much _risk_.

The days passed too quickly, like they always did between assignments, and eventually you were called back in. Another case deserving your utmost attention and you did as you had before, following his lead of professionalism and not pursuing the matters further. That didn’t stop you from taking long showers at the hotels you stayed in, using your own fingers in lieu of his, trying to get the feelings out of your system before stepping back into the role of young, eager FBI-agent with nothing but professional respect for her boss.

Except things weren’t exactly the same as before. Despite Hotch’s words about separating work from private life, there was... something. Touches. Glances. Always brief, never inappropriate, but enough to keep you guessing.

Like one time during a flight he had folded a wayward tag back into the collar of your shirt and his fingers lingered a brief second too long on the soft, sensitive skin. No one else seemed to have noticed, and you spent the rest of the flight with your heart pounding.

You thought you caught Hotch watching you through the windows of the conference room before morning briefings. Those precious minutes when you read the newspaper and had your ‘breakfast’ of coffee and whatever you had picked up from the cafeteria on your way to the office. A trick of the light, because when you looked up, he was busy reading the preparation material.

Once you had traveled out to a crime scene in the back of a police van and he had helped you out. Common chivalry, or so you thought, until you ended up standing altogether too close to him. His hand resting on the curve of your waist and your arms resting almost naturally on his arms from when you had grabbed him for support. There was something in the way he looked at you that made you warm all over. The moment broke when the driver side door slammed and the local police officer joined you.

Not really sure what you could get away with, you had never reciprocated. Every time you tried to work up the nerve to do anything, something happened that reminded you how you were still both at work. That didn’t mean you could reach an orgasm without his face on your mind and his name on your lips. But he was your boss, and he had the team dynamics to worry about, whatever that meant.

So nothing really happened, until the donut-incident.

Not too long after the kiss in his office, you found yourself alone in the small break room of the local sheriff’s station you were assisting. They had a cold case that might be connected to a new string of murders and you were working around the clock to catch the unsub before he struck again. Currently, you waited for Garcia to do some magic and there was only so many times you could will yourself to read the case details all over again. While not all stereotypes about cops held true, you appreciated whoever had brought in the donuts anyway because you desperately craved both sugar and caffeine.

“Any coffee left?”

“On the pot,” you told Hotch, who had entered almost soundlessly behind you into the small drab room. Most of the station had cleared out because of the late hour, but the BAU were of course still there.

You knew the sheriff’s department had female deputies on the roster, but you would never have guessed it from the calendar on the wall showcasing semi-nude women artfully holding their naked breasts. Normally that would just have made you roll your eyes, but you intently studied Hotch for any sign of a reaction. His focus never wavered from filling a paper cup of stale coffee and he seemed to have missed the calendar altogether as he came to survey the donut selection.

It was easier to ignore what had happened between you — or was currently going on for all you knew — when you were working. Nothing spelled mood-killer more than gruesome murders. You were leaning against the table, coffee in one hand and a donut in another.

“What’s your poison?” you asked in-between bites of your own plain glazed donut with no filling. They were from a local bakery and ten times better than the mass-produced variety you usually got. Also completely unrecognizable if you were looking for something specific.

It was amazing how he could look so serious while trying to select which pastry to dig into. “Vanilla filling?”

“I think those,” you said and used your pinky-finger of your hand with the cup to indicate a row. “Looks like there’s some vanilla on the side there.”

Okay, it was easier to ignore, but that didn’t mean you always succeeded. Just the sight of his hands swiping up a napkin to pick up a hopefully vanilla filled donut — his movements were precise and confident as ever — made your mouth water. You took a hasty sip of your coffee to cover for your blatant staring and instead glanced at his reaction when biting into the donut.

“Vanilla,” he confirmed with his mouth half-full and took up the spot next to you, also leaning against the table. Not close enough to be touching, but still very much unavoidably next to you. The silence that followed was not tense, not exactly — you had been alone together a few times already when working, nothing had happened. “Nice job today with the interview of the victim’s father.”

“Thanks,” you said and as always, the work-talk allowed you to breathe easier. “I know it’s not technically an interrogation, but it still makes me feel weird to apply the same techniques to people in grief.”

A rustle of fabric as he sighed, and you glanced to see him nodding in agreement. His voice soft as he said: “Unfortunate part of the job. You did good, don’t worry.”

“Does it ever get easier?”

His answer took a while, but at least he didn’t try to sugarcoat it. “No. Not really.”

“Well,” you huffed and finished the last of your donut, grabbing a few napkins to wipe your fingers, “that sucks.”

You caught him smiling slightly and couldn’t help the stupid grin spreading on your own face. These were the kinds of moments that made it bearable to even be around Hotch. He was a good guy, through and through.

And he was such a good guy you couldn’t let him walk back out into the station with icing on his face. Morgan, Reid, Prentiss? In a heartbeat. But not Hotch.

“Hotch,” you laughed to get his attention, and he turned from where he had pushed off the table. You gestured to your own face. “You got a little...”

He used the napkin, completely missing it, and you shook your head.

“Hang on, I’ll just-”

Without thinking, you reached out to swipe the excess icing from the side of his lip using your thumb. Your brain caught up just as you touched his face and you both seemed to freeze at the contact.

The pad of your thumb rested against the warm soft curve of his bottom lip while your eyes didn’t quite dare to meet his, locked instead on his lips, slightly parted. It was an overly familiar gesture, pushing the boundaries of what could be ruled appropriate.

Heart almost climbing up your throat, you briefly glanced at his face and the darkness in his eyes made you breathless. You were already in deep, you figured, so why not go all the way?

Slowly, you dragged your thumb over his bottom lip — you could feel each exhale of his breath against your skin, the slight wetness from the inside of his mouth. He didn’t stop you, but almost seemed to wait to see what you would do.

Still looking at him, you pulled your hand back, and turning off your brain, put the thumb to your own mouth and let your tongue make a slow, careful swipe at the icing. You didn’t need to be a profiler to catch how Hotch’s gaze followed your movements intently; how his mouth opened just a bit more; how his chest appeared to strain against the form-fitting shirt he wore.

The temperature in the room seemed to have risen considerably, but just the incredibly focused expression on Hotch’s face made you bold enough to maintain eye-contact. It was the same kind of focus you had seen once before, when your hand was inside the confines of his pants, jacking him off steadily in the plane. You could imagine he would look the same while fucking you. Maybe as you rode him, his dark eyes trailing every curve, dip and swell of your body while his hands dug painfully into your hips. And that furrow between his brows, making him look angry, would deepen until smoothing out as he would throw his head back, finally coming deep inside of you.

“Careful,” he murmured when your playful tongue had wiped your own thumb clean. His eyes glanced to the door of the break room, but you were still alone. You wondered if your pupils were as dilated as his. Probably, based on how warm you felt all over just by him looking at you.

You swallowed when you watched Hotch’s tongue lick his own lips, picking up the residue of the icing. His tongue. Now there was another enticing part of him you had thought about a few times. You’ve had it in your mouth, on your nipples, and you’ve seen him lick your juices off his own fingers with it. You wanted it somewhere else too, parting your wet folds, working its way up to your clit.

Several seconds passed where neither of you moved, just stared at each other, before the spell broke with his phone buzzing. He answered without breaking eye-contact. “Hotchner.” By the time he spoke the next word, he was already moving, giving you the sign to get going as well. “What do you have, Garcia?”

You finished the rest of your coffee in one go, crumpled the cup in your hand, and followed Hotch back into the station, trying not to notice how wet you were.

* * *

Then there was the trial.

It happened more often than not that federal prosecutors called the BAU in as witnesses to solved cases. You just helped catch the killer, it did not always mean a conviction for their crimes. Legal proceedings took forever and this would be the first time you took the stand since joining the BAU and it of course had to be for the first case you ever worked.

Already hating and detesting being in the witness stand, matters did not improve with how a storm had struck the entire east coast and you ran into the courthouse under an umbrella, begging your pantyhose would hold up.

“You’re late,” was Hotch’s first words as he opened the side-door to let you in, taking the umbrella out of your hands automatically. If possible, he looked more put together than usual in a flawless black suit with a somber tie. Hair perfectly gelled back on the sides, but those few strands in the front rebelling as always.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. There was a pile-up on the interstate and-”

“Doesn’t matter, you’re here now.” His words clipped and to the point as he shut your umbrella and steered you down one of the marble hallways identical to all the others. “Let’s go. Morgan’s already up there.”

“Up there?” you asked while fighting to keep up with his brisk pace. Your heels echoed in the empty corridor. Court attendance required a slightly more refined dress-code, even if you felt you looked like a secretary in the sleek pencil skirt and pumps. It was not the outfit for physical exertions. “Stairs?”

His lip twitched into a smile as he glanced over his shoulder. “Elevator. Come on.”

You and Morgan had been the one to actually apprehend the unsub, hence why the US Attorney’s office called you as witnesses. Hotch was there as the expert witness to bring weight to the profile if necessary. Since this was your first trial, you had a feeling he was there as moral support too. He at least knew how to navigate the unfamiliar building and brought you to an elevator that looked to have been part of the original design. Not your area of expertise, but you would guess somewhere from the sixties or seventies.

“You feel prepared?” Hotch pressed the button while you unwrangled yourself from your coat.

“I feel sick,” you muttered, smoothing over your skirt and smiled at his worried expression. “I’m just nervous. I don’t like lawyers.”

The pointed silence made you realize what you just said.

“Uhh,” you started, staring at his raised eyebrow and flat mouth. “I didn’t mean-”

His eyes crinkled, one of those rare signs to show he actually had a sense of humor. “I know you didn’t. I’m not a fan of lawyers either. Ready?”

The elevator doors opened, and you both stepped inside. It even had a retro umbrella stand, a nice resting place for the wet one you had brought in. Hotch pushed the button for the seventh floor while you tried to smooth over your skirt again.

“Shit.”

His face snapped to yours. “What?”

You sucked in a sharp breath. “My pantyhose tore.”

Hotch’s eyebrows drew together as he leaned back to see the same as you, a nice ladder-pattern crawling from your heel up to the back of your knee. The official FBI-guideline for court appearances still listed nude pantyhose as a requirement, but you suspected no one had updated it for the last three decades or so.

“You have a spare?” he asked, once more confirming his in-depth knowledge to the female world.

You winced. “This was my spare. The first one ripped when I tried to get dressed in the first place.” A result of your overzealous nerves, but he didn’t need to know that. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault.” A slight beat where Hotch seemed to think. The elevator, slow as it was, climbed steadily to the seventh floor. His eyes drilled into you. “Are you comfortable to go without?”

The way he posed the question indicated he would find a different solution if your answer was negative. Part of you wondered if he would pull a few favors to have your testimony postponed if necessary. For once the nerves about testifying soon overpowered your arousal, but you made a mental note to replay this exact moment later on at a better time.

Mouth dry, you nodded to answer him and Hotch immediately leaned over to press the stop button.

He caught your slightly panicked expression. “Old elevators have a separate stop and emergency button. It’s only to buy us some time.”

“Okay, good,” you said because you had worried it would sound an alarm and have a security guard check in on you. Hotch very pointedly turned his back to you, giving you a semblance of privacy. You put your coat on the floor and slipped out of your high-heeled shoes.

This was no different than changing into a bikini, you tried to convince yourself, and shimmied the pencil skirt up over your hips so it bunched at your waist. Except this was your boss who you secretly — although maybe not that secretly anymore — harbored some very unprofessional feelings for. Good thing you were in time-crunch and this technically counted as an emergency.

And even if he happened to glance back, you at least wore nice panties for a change, having opted for one of the new underwear sets to give you some secret confidence in court. There was nothing in his ramrod back that gave a clue to where his mind was — probably not going the same route as yours — but you kept your gaze fixed on him as you slid the pantyhose down your legs. You made yourself keep your mouth shut instead of making some inappropriate joke ( _“Time and place, Agent.”)_ and stood on one leg to slip the thin garment of your pointed foot.

Just then, a heavy lurch rocked the elevator, and the world went black.

The sudden impact and your awkward stance with your legs tangled in the pantyhose made you loose footing. You tumbled forward, a slight grunt when you hit Hotch straight on, but he instinctually grabbed you. For a wild second you wondered if the freak turbulence had followed you into a new setting, but you realized the lurch had been the failsafe-mechanism of the elevator kicking in when it lost power. The gentle whirr of machinery shutting down confirmed it. Unable to see your hand in front of you, you felt relief when Hotch held you up.

“Careful.” Hotch’s voice came from somewhere right above you in the darkness. “You okay?”

“Think so.” You splayed your hands, only to find them resting on his chest, made clear by how your fingers touched the edge of his tie. His body felt warm against yours and his hands even warmer, one of them on your upper back, the other dug into the bunched fabric at your waist. You wondered if he realized you were half-naked from the waist down. “You?”

“Fine.”

Neither moved for a few seconds, both waiting for the lights to come back on. No such luck.

“Power outage?” you whispered, the darkness swallowing your words.

“Probably,” his voice resonated through his chest into you, “because of the storm.”

You swallowed heavily as you could feel each time he breathed through the movements of his body. “You should press that emergency button now.”

“I should,” he agreed in a low murmur, but made no move to do so. “What are you doing?”

You froze immediately. You had been trying to be discreet and apparently failed. “Uh, I just had those stupid pantyhose around my ankles, so I stepped out of them. And then I,” you cleared your throat, “was going to pull my skirt down, sir.”

Another silence. “Your skirt?”

“Yes, sir.”

The silence smothered you, even more so when you had expected him to correct your term of address. What you had not expected was him to shift slightly and slowly move the hand on your waist a fraction downwards. Like he could not quite believe what you had just said. He kept a torturous pace, as if to savor the moment or give you every opportunity to stop him. It was hard to tell, but when his warm fingertips reached the end of your skirt fold and instead hit the bare skin on the side of your hips, you couldn’t help but let out a short gasp.

His hand stilled right away. The other arm around your upper back loosened so he could pull back a bit. Almost like he wanted to look at your face, but it was pitch black in here and you could only see the barest contours of him.

“You want me to stop?” There it was again, that tone that told you he would heed your wishes no matter what. There was something else in his voice too, a need or desire that made you momentarily forget about your nerves for the witness stand.

It took some coaxing to get your mouth to operate. “No, sir.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

His fingers twitched against the sensitive skin — God, those fingers — and you felt his breath come closer. You barely heard him over your own loud heartbeat, but his voice dropped lower. “Hotch.”

“Hotch,” you almost moaned in agreement and let him pull you closer again for a breathtaking kiss.

Like everything he did, his movements were so assured and confident, even when it was coaxing your lips apart with his. It felt like a fire burning from the soft flesh of your bottom lip down to your belly button, heat spreading to every part of your body and your fingers tightened in the stiff material of his shirt. You wanted to feel skin and your hands went up to his neck, one running through the surprisingly soft hair in the nape. Hot, God he was so hot, and he practically lifted you off your feet when pulling you closer to him.

So lost in the kiss, you had forgotten about his hand on your hip until you grazed your teeth over his bottom lip. A slight groan vibrated from his chest to yours and his hand moved to the side, sweeping the bare skin of your hip and not finding more material until his fingers splayed over your buttock. The lady at the underwear store had called the panty-design for ‘cheeky’, like a hipster-thong hybrid and now you groaned as Hotch spread his fingers wide and grasped the soft flesh completely unhindered.

Strong, hard fingers dug into the soft muscle and lifted you closer to him. The movement dragged your stiff nipples across his chest, only separated by the thin blouse and bralette you wore underneath, and you could also feel something else hardening against your lower stomach.

His grip would leave bruises, you thought, and pushed harder against him. Both breathing heavily, the kiss ended, and you gasped in air. You wished you could see him. Wished you could see those dark eyes, slightly disheveled hair, crooked tie — everything that was him, like this, with you.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against your lips, but didn’t sound like that was what he wanted. A way out, he was giving you a way out — that was literally the last thing on your mind. Every word brushed his wet lips over yours. “If you don’t want this, say it.”

Instead of answering, you kissed him softly to shut him up, and moved your hand from his neck to his shoulder, pushing against the hardened bicep to dislodge his grip on your back. With his strength, you only managed to shift his hold because he let you. You dragged your hand down his arm, feeling the firm muscles, until you reached his wrist and promptly placed his hand on your other ass cheek.

You really wanted this.

At least he took the hint and got a firm hold with both hands now. He groaned somewhere deep in his chest — God, you could listen to that forever — and massaged both your cheeks, pulling you up further so you stood perched on the tips of your toes, spreading you so you could feel a rush of air against the soaked fabric covering your lips down there. This was your boss, putting you on display for the dark, empty elevator. You wanted to ride him like this, sit in his lap, legs spread wide over his hips as you drove yourself onto his hard cock, his hands groping your butt, spreading you just like this.

His hard cock. You snaked your free hand between your bodies, brushing against the material of his dress pants until you found what you searched for. Hotch’s stiff erection pushing against fabric and now your hand too. Another low groan from somewhere in the back of his throat and he moved his spread fingers over your ass, finding the perimeter of your panties where they stretched over your hips. One hand still grabbing and lifting your cheek, the fingertips of his other hand slipped under the lace border of your underwear and a tremor passed through you while you felt yourself get slicker by the second.

Unable to breathe, you stopped kissing him, letting out small shivering exhales as he traced his fingers down with one hand. From the side of your hip, following the curve until he hit the top edge of where your cheeks parted. You could only hear his slow breaths, his mouth still right next to yours, and your eyes closed when his fingers continued downward. Lifting the skimpy material that had settled between your cheeks, fingertips just barely shimmering over your sweat-slicked skin, not pausing back _there_ — at least not this time — and instead continued a bit more, dipping slowly into the soaking wet warmth of your folds. You were so wet his fingers only felt like a faint tingle — still enough to make your breath hitch and your hand to instinctively tighten over his dick.

It was like time had stopped. At least your mind had. Every available neuron only concentrated on where his fingers teased gently between your lips, gliding easily from your natural lubrication. Not pushing in, not yet, and not giving any attention to your aching clitoris. You found yourself squeezing your vaginal muscles to get that light tingle from the highly sensitive nub, but his fingers just moved slowly between your inner labia, spreading your essence around. It felt so good your knees almost buckled, this burning tenderness as he just felt you out without any hurry. His other hand held the panties out of the way, giving access to roam freely.

You let out a soft whimper when his index finger nudged against your clit. Just once, not nearly enough, and you pushed your hips out, wanting more. Again, your nipples rubbed against his chest where you practically hung from his neck with one hand still in the collar of his suit.

He captured your mouth again, biting on your bottom lip as he slipped his finger inside of you to the first knuckle. Another impossibly soft whimper against his tongue, and you felt his dick twitch against your hand.

“That’s okay?” he asked, and you nodded, too out of breath to answer. Way more than okay.

Rationally, you remembered something about a trial, that you were in an elevator, that you had spent ages ironing your skirt just to rumple it like this. Not that you cared at all as Hotch pushed his finger — you felt impossibly tight around him, it felt like you would never fit more than just one of his fingers — fully inside of you. The last time he had done this, had his hand inside your underwear, the seated position hadn’t allowed him to do this. To fuck you with his long hard finger like this.

Not even aware of what sounds you were making — mostly shallow-breathed gasps — you melted against his chest, letting him hold you up. Even with his long arms, the angle was off and he pulled his finger out again. Your muscles clenched around nothing, wanting him back in there, wanting his dick in there, but he held you steady, only your hand rubbing against his erection allowed to move.

You soon found out why. Hotch brought his hand up to where your mouths hovered not even an inch apart. You parted your lips without thinking as he pushed two of his slippery fingers, coated with your essence, into your mouth. The savory salty flavor mixed with your spit as you licked and sucked his long hard fingers, letting your tongue roam around the digits like it was another part of him entirely. With the dark, you had no way of knowing his expression, but you could imagine it. You could imagine it looked exactly like when he had watched you lick the icing of your thumb. Furrowed brows, dark eyes, a certain tenderness to his face that was all Hotch.

Hotch, who now pulled his fingers out of your mouth and kissed you, pushing his tongue against yours, tasting the same thing you had. You shared willingly. His hand, still wet with your spit, went back to your naked ass and grabbed you like before, spreading you, now with your underwear held to the side. You wished he could see that; that he could stand behind you, see when he opened you up like this, before pushing his hard cock between your now puffy lips and driving in.

The thought that you were in a public building in a stopped elevator struck you. Power could come back any minute now. What would you do if that happened? If Hotch was fully sheathed inside of you, with your skirt bunched up around your waist and your face wet with your sweat and your own juices when the elevator started back up? Opening the doors to a hallway that could be empty or filled with people? As much as you wanted him to fuck you right here and now, it was not the kind of risk you could take. Him being your boss would be the least of your worries.

But this — Hotch moved you around so your back was against the cool surface of the elevator wall — was still within what you could get away with. At least you hoped so. You had no plans of stopping him. He used his knee to gently spread your legs apart — your wet pussy lips also opening with the thin fabric of your panties between — before leaning in to kiss you again, a slow inviting kiss ending with another soft bite on your bottom lip and his palm cupping your face.

You could feel him brace himself sideways on the wall with one hand, mouth still planting wet kisses on your lips. His other hand ran down from your face, lightly feathering over the sensitive skin on your neck, brushing down over the swell of your breasts. He must have noticed the gentle ridge of your nipple as he paused there, and you thought you felt him smile against your mouth. Through the dual fabric of your shirt and bralette, he rubbed the stiff bud around and you had to pull back from his mouth to breathe, a careful whimper in the back of your throat.

He didn’t get a good grip through your clothes, but his thumb and forefinger pinched lightly, teasing the nipple to harden even further, and your eyes rolled backwards from the sheer pleasure. Before Hotch, you hadn’t even known they were so sensitive, how much you enjoyed having them played with, how you could climax simply from his mouth on them alone. You knew it felt good, but not _how_ good. Not before him; and your own fingers never even came close.

In a daze, you realized you still had your hand around his dick as he pushed slightly into it and you gripped him harder. The low, raw groan somewhere in the dark would burn itself into your memory forever. He rewarded you by cupping your breast, squeezing, before moving over to the other neglected nipple. Using the hard edge of his thumbnail, he flicked against it, sending another wave of heat down to your already soaked pussy over and over again.

You wanted his fingers on them properly, teasing and tugging on your naked nipples, but you wore a button-up shirt and you wondered if that was why he didn’t try to slip his hand inside. It was faster to pull down a bunched up skirt than re-button a shirt hastily. You wondered if he would let you touch him inside his pants again, feeling the heat and slickness of precum around his head. You wanted him to feel good.

With that in mind, you fumbled for his zipper. His hand paused over your breast, thumb going in slow circles around one of your nipples. Feeling his breath move closer, you shut your eyes again when he kissed the side of your jaw. “You don’t have to.”

Just hearing his voice made you hot all over again. This was your boss, SSA Aaron Hotchner, even if you couldn’t see him. “I want to.”

“You’re due in court when the power’s back,” he murmured, but as he said it, his hand slipped lower. Leaving your breasts, brushing over your stomach, then placing his flat palm underneath the bunched skirt on the area between your belly button and mound. As if he could sense the rise of nerves, he moved his hand lower and lower, into your panties and towards your spread lips. “Remember?”

“I’ll hide the evidence,” you whispered, finding his zipper and tugging it down.

Another kiss, closer to your mouth. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hotch.”

“Hotch,” you confirmed and kissed him fully, sliding your tongue between his lips. “I’m sure.”

He smiled against your lips. “Evidence tampering can be a federal offense.”

“Is that,” you worked open his fly, “so?”

“Spoliation.” He groaned again when your hand moved inside his pants, one less layer of clothes between you. “The intentional,” his fingers teased the upper skin of your slit, “reckless,” one finger slipped down to the top, “or negligent,” you whimpered as he rubbed the hood of your throbbing clit, “destruction,” your fingers moved into the opening of his boxers, “of,” a sharp exhale from him, “evidence.”

You wondered if he felt how much wetter you became just by hearing him talk. As pleasurable as his fingers were — and they felt amazing rubbing over you like now — most of your high-sprung lust came from the fact that it was _him_. SSA Aaron Hotchner. It wasn’t even about him being your boss, not really. It was just _him_.

And now you had _him_ in your hand while he teased and circled your clit, only occasionally rubbing over it, making you arch your back off the wall. It was all you could do to keep your grip on his dick, jerking him off slowly, memorizing every vein and ridge on his throbbing cock. His large palm spread over the top of your mound, two of his fingers moving the little bud between them. You were so wet, so open, and the contact almost burned it felt so good.

Not sure if you should ask, beg or command, but you wanted more. You desperately craved release. God, how many times had you dreamed of this? Of him pushing against you like this, huffing quick breaths over your skin, fingering you just like he was doing now? Long, hard fingers moving expertly between your lips, knowing to keep a steady pace, knowing exactly how to bring you close and deny you at last second.

You wanted to ask why. Why the hell didn’t you do this at every available hour? Why were you playing this game when this felt so good? Based on his shallow breaths, the way he fucked into your hand, you knew it felt good for him too. He obviously wanted this.

The answer came from a familiar buzzing sound. You could feel it against your arm, his cell-phone somewhere in his inner pocket.

Both of you stopped moving, almost stopped breathing, and you felt him push off from the wall. He didn’t take his hand away from your pussy, but used his other hand — his _dry_ hand, your mind added — to fish out the buzzing phone. You caught a brief glimpse of his face from the screen light before it disappeared.

“Hotchner,” he answered, but even though it was hushed, you could hear the strain in his voice. From the faint echoes, it was Morgan on the other end and you decided to push your luck. How professional could SSA Aaron Hotchner really be? He twitched when you closed your hand around his dick and began moving again. “No, she’s here with me.”

Yes, you definitely were.

Hotch hissed between his teeth. “We were heading up in an elevator when the power went out.”

Licking your lips, you ran your thumb over his sensitive and burning hot tip, spreading the precum around. His shaft throbbed against your fingers and you recalled how he had felt inside your mouth and afterwards, pushing down into your throat. You wanted that. Wanted to give him that.

“Okay, I see,” Hotch continued like he was not getting a handjob in an elevator with his hand still in your panties. In the dark, you only heard his breaths and the way he swallowed heavily. “No time estimate yet?”

You would have given everything to see his face. To see the focused expression, the same one you saw every damn day in the office, but in this new setting. Wanted to see him lose it, just a little bit — the open mouth, the dark eyes, the sweat on his forehead. Wanted that.

Not paying attention to the conversation — it sounded like Morgan was summarizing the trial so far — you felt Hotch shift around. Where he had been standing sideways to you, he now stood facing the wall next to you, maybe to bring the phone farther away. You had to rotate your hand to maintain a solid grip.

“Right, okay,” he said, sounding nothing out of the ordinary, and thus gave you absolutely no warning before he moved his hand, the one still lingering in your panties. With no preamble, no hesitation, Hotch dragged his fingers over your quivering lips, parted them and pushed two fingers inside of you.

Two. You had felt tight around one.

_“Mmmh.”_

You swallowed the thin scream, not from pain, more from surprise and the sensation of being so incredibly full. _Oh God, oh God, oh God._ It felt so good. So, so, so good. You instinctively pushed yourself up on the wall, to gain leverage or to get some kind of friction, and you clenched and unclenched around his fingers. With how wet you were, they had met little resistance.

“No,” Hotch said and held his fingers inside of you, making you almost writhe around on them, “we’re fine for now.”

You blinked your eyes open to see Hotch aiming the dim screen-light at you, at your face, and you realized it had been a question too. Licking your lips, almost lost in the feeling, you nodded and you caught another glimpse of his face, his slight smile, as he put the phone back to his ear.

“Okay, good,” Hotch said and now pulled his fingers out at an agonizing slow speed. His thumb circled your clit, just barely, before his fingers pushed back in. You held your breath, not daring to make a sound. So good. So, so, so good. “Thanks, Morgan.” You heard the click from ending the call. His voice came more directed towards you, still sounding professional, as if he wasn’t steadily fucking you with two of his long, hard fingers. “The whole block is out because of the storm, court’s adjourned until the emergency generators are online.”

“Okay,” you managed to whimper, bucking against his hand, trying to rub your clit against his palm. He kept a torturous pace, drawing back to his first knuckle before sliding in a gain. Stifling a moan, you whispered: “How long?”

“Not,” he slammed his hand up, hitting new spots inside of you, “that,” again, the heel of his hand meeting your clit hard and you choked in another whimper, “long.” You heard the wet sound as he plunged them into you again and you saw stars blinking in the dark elevator.

His voice never even wavered. Keeping his fingers inside, he used the hard edge of his palm to rub against you. Your breath trembled when he bent his fingers inside of you, touching an entirely new mark — _Oh God, oh God, oh God —_ while still giving you that much needed friction against your clit.

So good. So goddamn good.

You felt his exhales on the side of your face, reminding you to keep your hand moving too, just to hear the lilt of his breath when you did. There were no thoughts anymore, just the feeling of him roughly and expertly fucking you with his fingers. As much as you tried, you couldn’t keep the same steady pace, head swimming with the sensation of becoming completely unraveled. You dropped your head back, feeling the sweat pool on your collar bones and you couldn’t help but thrust against his hand.

More. More, more, more.

Hotch groaned against your throat — you had probably squeezed a bit harder than intended — but he did not seem to mind. Quite the opposite. Rough, you both liked it just a little rough. A little too hard. His voice sounded impossibly dark when he asked: “Can you come like this?”

He had moved his hand to only give you the penetration, just his fingers impaling you steadily.

“No.” You swallowed heavily, although now you weren’t even sure what you could achieve just as long as it was him doing it. The friction was downright delicious. “No, I usually need-”

The words hadn’t even left your mouth before Hotch shifted his hand, taking his fingers out of you to instead rub over your clit. “This?”

You felt your brows pull together as your mouth dropped open briefly. A string of incoherent swearwords passed over your retina. “Mmh.”

“Like this?” he asked again, like he didn’t know, like he couldn’t feel you twitch and spasm against him just by hearing his voice. Two of his wet fingers circled steadily around your throbbing clit, making your back arch and buck with uncontrolled breaths. His chest rubbed against your arm when he spoke, the arm you moved in an unsteady rhythm around his dick.

You let out a breathless gasp. “Yes.”

Fingers not even pausing — fuck, fuck, fuck, it was good — he kept his voice soft right next to your ear. “Yes?”

“Yes, sir- _mmh!”_ You bucked against his hand when he pinched the little bud between his fingers, a little too hard to be comfortable, resulting in a delicious burn. “ _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ Hotch.”

No break. He kept going. Back to rubbing, steady firm pace with steady firm pressure building a tension in your muscles that felt unbelievable, he prompted: “What?”

Your voice broke. “Hotch.”

“One more time.”

The lights could have come back on for all you knew, your eyes rolled in the back of your head. Every swipe with his fingers brought you closer and closer and the deep baritone of his voice hit another pleasure center in your brain. “Hotch.”

“Again,” he said, same soft voice like he used in the office and his fingers sped up quietly and you bit your teeth together because it was so, so, so good and you needed just a little more and he kept rubbing and using his strong fingers over you and you were so, so, so close.

“Hotch.”

He picked up the pace. “Again.”

“Hotch!” you cried out and your body felt weightless as the pleasure swallowed you. Arching your back off the wall, throwing your head back, bucking against his still-rubbing fingers, you rode the wave, saying his name like swear, gasping it in like air itself. “Hotch, Hotch, Hotch, _aah!_ ”

So, so good, good, good — your mind turned blank.

For a long couple of seconds, you felt like you were floating out of your own body. The tension in your muscles released and flexed over and over, your vaginal muscles squeezing tight around nothing.

He kept rubbing — Jesus Christ have mercy he kept rubbing — and you thrust against his hand, rolling your hips, trying to get more and less at the same time. Fireworks, lightening, inferno, there was no describing the feeling when you came. Every particle of your body felt like it was burning, and you rode the wave, every heartbeat bringing you to new heights.

Good. So, so, so good.

So lost in the blitz of sheer ecstasy, because he did not let up his movements even once, you didn’t register his free hand closing over yours before he started moving it. His larger hand covering yours completely, increasing the pace and pressure on his dick.

You turned your head, finding his lips waiting in a soft and wet kiss that stole the small gasping breaths from his fingers still rubbing over your sensitive little bud. Every swipe made your chest arch again, bucking and spasming incontrollably until it became more painful than good — you tremored with each passing from the overstimulation — and your gasp turned into a whimper.

Not breaking the kiss, he pulled his hand out of your underwear — soaking wet, practically squelching by now — and you knew it would be coated with your essence. Wet, slick and all you. In the dark, you felt him take your hand off his dick, but judging by the sounds, he now used his other hand — his wet hand — to jack himself off.

His other hand rested against your cheek and he whispered against your lips: “Are you sure?”

Shivering all over from a combination of bliss and recovering from a mind-numbing orgasm, you choked out: “Yes.”

His hand moved to help you down to your knees. The floor felt cold underneath your naked legs, but you were scalding hot anyway and didn’t mind. It was pitch black in the elevator and you only heard the wet sounds of him rubbing his own dick, covering it in your wetness. Something about court appearance, spit and stains was in the back of your mind and you tried to not touch his pants too much, instead searching only for the hot throbbing erection inside his hand.

The heat practically radiated off him when you got close enough — a slight musky smell, but he mostly just smelled clean and manly — and you let out a slow breath in anticipation. Trying not to disturb his rhythm, you put your hand at the base, feeling the thick curls you could only imagine what looked like. You hoped you got the chance. You hoped you got the chance to do this properly, without worries about time or evidence. To see him like he was now, hard and ready.

His speed increased, and you gripped him, using your other hand to cup his balls, just wanting to feel him. All of him. You wanted every single inch of him. In unspoken unison, he removed his hand, and you wasted no time before taking him in your mouth. He tasted like you, more salty than tangy and you twirled your tongue all over him, lapping up the flavor. You heard his hard breaths, felt how his hips jerked — he was close.

One hand on his shaft, you pulled more of him inside your mouth, letting the head slide over your tongue. Every ridge, every vein, every curve to this dick — you wanted it. You pumped him with your hand, and moved your head back and forth, taking him as deep as you could comfortably go without pushing into your throat and he groaned somewhere over you.

When you felt the pressure on the back of your head, knowing his hands hovered there, you let him set the pace. Let him fuck your mouth. He took it slow, not down your throat, knowing the same as you that it would likely make you drool. You breathed through your nose, swallowed your own spit, juices and his precum to avoid it leaking down on either of you. Evidence tampering, you thought, and sucked in when he had pushed you back to only have the tip in your mouth. Your teeth grazed the incredibly sensitive edge of his head, careful as you could be, but you had a feeling he liked it and, judging by how he groaned and shoved his hips forward again, he liked it a lot.

A gentle hiss sounded and you instinctively looked up just as the lights flickered on.

Suddenly, you saw his face, the deep crease in his brows, the sweat in his hairline and when you met his dark eyes, you felt him buck extra hard, hips jerking forward, and this time he let out a heavy groan. A sound you had never heard from his lips before, but hoped you could elicit again and again. A loud sound, masculine and strong, just like his hand still on your head.

His head fell back, out of sight, and the first drops of hot cum shot into the back of your throat. Unable to help it, you coughed, but he luckily held your head steady and you remembered to swallow instead of your body’s automatic reaction to gag or spit. More cum coated your tongue, and you swallowed, not paying attention to the taste, but keeping suction around him while he did small thrusts, pumping himself empty.

You wondered if you looked half as sexy as he did now, with his tie crooked and his shirt rumpled. He breathed hard — you could see his chest expand heavily under his shirt — and his dark eyes met yours again, almost impossibly soft compared to how hard his dick still was. Not really thinking about payback, you remembered how it had ended on the plane and swiped your tongue over his twitching head again. Breathing through your nose, you tried to relax your jaw and throat and felt the slick shaft throb as you took all of him, as far as you could, until the tip of your nose pressed against his pubes, the head of his dick pushed against the ridge of your throat and he grunted hard somewhere above you.

His hands only hovered on your head, no pressure, you were the one pushing forward until your body protested and you sat back with a small gasp, a small string of spit hanging from the head of his dick to your lips. You leaned forward again to kiss it away and felt his entire body shudder. Now in the light, you could see exactly how he looked, with a thick thatch of black curls peeking through the opening of his pants, and the darker organ contrasting to the relatively pale skin. Beautiful. Gorgeous.

Still on your knees, skirt still bunched around your waist, you glanced up at him again, just wanting to see him catch his breath. The hand on the back of your head moved forward to your face, running his thumb over your sweaty hairline almost fondly. His eyes hooded, mouth slightly parted, but a hint of a smile on his lips. SSA Aaron Hotchner coming down from a high provided by no other than yourself.

He held out his other hand to you and helped you up, pulling you in for a kiss almost immediately. Again, his tongue traced yours, obviously not deterred by the combined tastes and you leaned into it, whole body feeling weightless from the intense orgasm not long before. His hand smoothed over your back, tugging the skirt down to cover you just like he had done on the plane. It made your heart flutter for unknown reasons — he really did care about people — and you barely caught how he tucked himself inside his pants until you heard his zipper slide up.

Still breathing heavily, he ended the kiss to rest his head against the wall, but held you close, allowing you to rest your head on his shoulder. The moment felt serene, the harsh overhead light from the elevator not the mood-dampener you might have expected it to be. The intensity of seeing him as he came still lingered in your mind. A sight you would never forget. Sometimes the universe had perfect timing, and you felt perfectly calm with him like this.

At least until you felt the elevator moving.

Both of you dove sideways in a panic and slammed your hand onto the stop-button simultaneously. You had somehow made it first as his hand smothered yours against the button. The elevator stopped immediately, but not with the same jerk as from the failsafe.

You let out a quiet breath of air that turned into a laugh at the close call. Okay, yeah, you were technically covered up, but you did not feel nearly as put-together as you should have been. Your panties weren’t even fully on and who knew where your shoes were and you had a feeling your makeup might have shifted just a little bit.

Hotch released your hand and leaned back against the wall. A part of you felt proud of making him lose his normally well-crafted composure. “Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh,” you said, trying to surreptitiously adjust your wayward clothing as you tiptoed over the elevator floor to your pumps. “Don’t I look okay?”

You had meant it as a joke, and wasn’t prepared for Hotch to straighten up and make you face him. There was a glimmer in his eyes — one your inner profiler would have likened to fondness — as he brushed his fingers over your face. Smoothing down and wiping away what you guessed were the most obvious clues to what had just happened.

“There,” he said, and a smile tugged at the edge of his mouth. His dark brown eyes darted around your face and he even straightened the collar of your shirt. “Perfect.”

Feeling so unraveled — lips swollen and tender, sweat still in your hairline, knees slightly sore — you had your doubts. You raised an eyebrow, but decided to return the favor by running your fingers over his hair, fixing his crooked tie and inspect his lips for any traces of your tinted lip balm. Nothing, it was probably long gone from your own lips as well.

“Good as new.” You patted the lapel of his suit and momentarily lost your breath when he treated you to one of his rare smiles, a full one, making him look ten years younger just like _that_. Especially with the slight tint in his cheeks. You had no choice but to smile back, feeling like a blushing schoolgirl, and you were tempted to undo all of your work by jumping him again.

Then of course his phone buzzed. The smile lingered, even with closed lips, for a second before he reached in to answer. “Hotchner.”

He swept down to pick up your coat while you carefully bent to retrieve the forgotten pantyhose. Something seemed to have made him pause, and you waited expectantly for the ball to drop. A part of you suddenly worried there were hidden surveillance cameras in the elevator and you and Hotch had put on a live-show for the whole guard office.

“Okay, we must have gotten the buttons confused,” Hotch said slowly, handing you the coat and giving you a raised eyebrow to ask if you were ready. You nodded as you stuffed the torn pantyhose into the pocket of your coat. “We’ll try the start button and see if that helps.” As he spoke, he did just that and automatically held his hand out to you in case the sudden movement threw you off balance. It didn’t, but you appreciated his care. “Yes, we’re heading up now. Thanks, Morgan.”

The call ended as the _ding_ came from reaching the seventh floor. The doors opened to reveal Morgan and another guy in overalls who had to be a janitor of some sorts.

“You guys okay?” Morgan asked, and try as you might, you only saw genuine concern for your welfare in his face. “The emergency generators are back on, but according to Tom,” he nodded towards the janitor, “they’re not the most stable and they’re closing off the elevators as a safety precaution.”

“You hit the wrong button,” Tom explained calmly as you and Hotch exited the elevator. “These old ones have a separate stop and emergency button. Easy to get them mixed up, people do it all the time.”

It took a lot to maintain the same stone-faced expression as Hotch managed to do.

“Come on, court reconvenes in thirty minutes,” Morgan said before either you or Hotch could answer. He looked at you. “Ready for this, new girl?”

“Yes, sir,” you said automatically and tried to keep your expression neutral when Hotch glanced at you.

Morgan grinned and winked over his shoulder as you walked. “I like it when you call me ‘sir’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Split into two chapters for reading convenience. The second chapter will be up shortly!


	2. Chapter 2

Last came the conference.

After the trial — where the killer ended up with life without the possibility of parole, more thanks to the damning physical evidence than your testimony, but at least you didn’t ruin things — the next time the team left Quantico was to attend the FBI’s Annual National Training Conference. It was easily the largest gathering of law-enforcement agents from all over the US and this year held at a resort in Orlando, Florida. Three days packed back-to-back with training sessions, seminars, and networking activities. Rossi was of course part of a panel on witness behavior analysis, but otherwise you were free to pick and choose based on interests.

Even if the BAU covered all expenses, the fully booked resort meant you had to share rooms. Rossi and Hotch got single rooms — because of course they did — while the rest of you were in:

“Our spacious Double Queen accommodations that blend natural charm with a Spanish-revival feel and a jewel tone color palette to create an elegant and functional setting,” Garcia read aloud from the information-brochure as you exited from the elevator to the tenth floor. All of you were in the same hall, and it became a mild chaos of suitcases and people when everyone tried to find their room. Garcia sounded awed, and you also had to admit it was a beautiful hotel. “I like the idea of elegant, kinda curious about the functional.”

“Looks like we’re neighbors, baby girl,” Morgan joked as he unlocked the room right next to yours and Garcia’s. “Tap the wall if you need me.”

“With boss-man right across the hall?” Garcia shot back immediately, referring to how Hotch was using his keycard to the door directly across from yours. “I don’t think these walls are thick enough, brown sugar.”

Reid looked mildly disturbed and made some vague comment to Morgan as they filed inside their room, while you accidentally caught Hotch’s eye for a brief second. Time and place, you thought and followed Garcia into the Spanish-revival feeling room. Prentiss and JJ had already disappeared from the hall.

“Look at this view!” Garcia said in a breathless tone and you had to agree again that it was beautiful. She immediately found the whole itinerary and began mapping out what to attend and where — the whole resort spanned over two hundred and fifty acres — and you tried to pay attention instead of planning if you could get away with sneaking into Hotch’s room during after-hours.

At some point, you would have to talk about it, you thought. After the trial, you had again checked your phone too many times to see if he had tried calling you or sending a message, but nothing. You were both obviously skilled at keeping things compartmentalized to avoid jeopardizing the team’s integrity — whatever that meant — but you wanted more. Not necessarily a relationship, but at least an acknowledgment that there was _something_ going on. Maybe he didn’t? Maybe he was fine only scratching that particular itch when the universe presented an opportunity every once in a while?

Realizing you had just agreed to join Garcia for an afternoon yoga-class, you snapped out of your own head and actually tried to decide what you wanted to get out of these three days. She wanted to see the presentation on automatic facial recognition, but it clashed with the panel on mass-shooting response training you had signed up for. Unlike Garcia, you also made sure to have free slots during the day. Yes, you were eager to learn and network, but this was also a chance to relax and the resort had a whole spa center you wouldn’t mind checking out at some point.

The day passed in a whirlwind of handshaking, presentations, brunches and lunches, and cocktail hours before you woke up before dawn the next morning. Old habits were hard to break, and exercise was one of the ways you managed to stop obsessing over SSA Aaron Hotchner too much. With that in mind, you carefully slipped out of bed to avoid disturbing Garcia, who slept like an old woman with her hands clasped over her chest and a bright pink sleeping mask covering half her face. The resort had a large fitness center, but there were also more than a thousand people attending the conference, where most of them took their physique seriously. So you opted for the running trails instead.

Even though it was early in the morning, it was also Orlando, Florida in July and you dressed in a pair of loose running shorts, a sports bra, and a tank top. By the time you had covered your first mile, you severely regretted not trying your luck with the air-conditioned fitness center instead. Sweat poured off you while the sun climbed over the horizon. At least you had chosen the waterside-trail instead of the hills, where the extra elevation would have exhausted you completely. It was a good workout, no doubt, but you were dripping by the time you had finished the whole round and gratefully found the water-fountain where the trails intersected.

Quenching your thirst, you heard the double pair of footsteps approaching and looked up just as Morgan and Hotch came running from the hillside-trails. Like you, they had obviously felt the heat — Hotch’s gray t-shirt looked black and clung to every ridge of his torso while Morgan had foregone the shirt entirely and ran bare-chested. Despite his impressive abs, you found yourself more enraptured with Hotch and the way the sweat made his hair cling to his forehead.

“Hey,” Morgan greeted, obviously hard of breath and they both slowed down next to the fountain. He leaned forward on his knees. “Should’ve told us you were going for a run, could’ve joined us.”

“The hills?” you asked, making room for the fountain and shook your head. “Are you kidding me? The waterside was more than enough.”

“Good call,” Hotch said, somehow less out of breath than Morgan. He was a runner, you remembered, where Morgan might be a bit more of a weightlifter. “But you shouldn’t run alone in this heat anyway.”

“How embarrassing would it be to pass out from heatstroke with a thousand other agents in the immediate vicinity?” Morgan teased as you all walked over the hotel pathway. “Guys’d be lining up to give you mouth-to-mouth.”

You rolled your eyes, missing the twitch in Hotch’s frown. “Yeah, mouth-to-mouth, the standard procedure for heatstroke.”

Morgan continued to poke fun at you all the way into the reception where you headed for the elevator. Another group seemed to be in the midst of checking in and based on the average age-estimate, these were FBI Alumni or retired agents.

“Come on, guys, how about a ten-floor-sprint to finish off the workout?” Morgan asked, obviously recovered already.

Sweat dripping into your eyes, you just blinked at him as it hadn’t even crossed your mind to take the stairs instead of the elevator.

“Uh, no, how about this air-conditioned elevator that will require no physical effort on my behalf?” you asked sarcastically, already walking inside without waiting on either of them. You let out a relieved breath at the cool air from above. “You have fun in the stairs though!”

“Hotch, come on.”

“Sorry, Morgan, I’m done.” With a shake of his head, Hotch entered the elevator next to you and leaned against the back wall.

Morgan gave you both a disappointed look. Something seemed to have caught his eye, however, because his face split in a large grin. “All right, but I bet you ten bucks I’m in my room before you.”

His words didn’t make sense before he raced away and you noticed the entire group of retired agents sidling towards the elevator. It was a large elevator, but they were a large crowd where more than one had let the previous muscle-mass turn into fat and they had all the time in the world getting on board with you and Hotch as the only other unfortunate passengers.

“I hate to say this,” Hotch mumbled quietly as you were pressed backward, “but Morgan might have been right.”

“Just never tell him that,” you whispered back and tried to avoid the mass of bodies coming closer. Not only because you were sweaty and gross, but because so were they.

“Deal.”

You flinched when a hand snaked around your waist, but it was only Hotch pulling you to the side just as the large man in front of you took a firm step back.

People kept coming, and you had no choice but to press back into Hotch’s firm body, which was marginally better than to be crushed by a stranger. If you pushed into him, you could avoid pushing into the massive backs in front of you.

His hand slid over the tank top where your sweat made it slippery and his shirt felt cold against the bare skin of your arm. “Sorry. You okay?”

Except from your hard-beating heart, yes. You nodded and leaned slightly into him, welcoming the excuse when the packed elevator finally closed its doors. “Very.”

Your wet clothing almost made it seem like you weren’t wearing anything at all and you could feel every contour of his body where it pressed into yours. His hand never strayed from your waist, but he didn’t let go of you either. Not that you had anywhere to go with how people trapped you in on all sides.

Morgan had definitely been right about making it to the tenth floor before you — the elevator stopped on the second floor and more people pushed their way inside.

All the way at the back, you and Hotch stood impossibly close with your back pressed against his front. Like you, he had opted for running shorts, just the slightly longer variety. Still a flimsy material compared to his normal dress pants, and you realized you could really feel everything. Including something pushing against the soft flesh of your buttock, growing harder with each heartbeat.

For once, you couldn’t help yourself.

Clearing your throat, you whispered: “Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me, sir?”

The doors opened on the third floor, but you were too far back to see if anyone left or came on. Your only view was row upon row of people with their backs to you.

Hotch pulled you slightly closer to murmur against the side of your head, sounding deadly serious: “Time and place, Agent.”

You grinned, again unable to help yourself, and nudged one of your hands against his shorts. He let out an imperceptible low breath while you asked: “You call it ‘Agent’, sir?”

“Careful.” It sounded like he was smiling though and you leaned firmer against him. Still staring straight ahead, you shifted, resting your weight on your other hip, effectively grinding your ass against his crotch. His fingers tightened in the fabric of your top and he murmured in a low voice: “Remember what I said about risks?”

Fourth floor. Doors opened, but the geriatric community stayed put.

Mouth dry, you licked your lips, tasting the salt from the sweat. “Risk related to location or involved personnel, sir?”

“Both.”

“Then tell me to stop, sir.”

“Stop,” his breath fanned out over your ear while his hand slipped under the hem of your top, “calling me,” the palm of his hand rested on the curve of your waist, burning hot against your damp skin, “‘sir’.”

His words flooded your mind with serotonin. His voice, his body, everything about him just hit all the right spots for you. And when you shifted again, hearing his low hiss and feeling how he had grown harder against your ass, you probably hit a right spot for him too.

No stop for the fifth and sixth floor, but the elevator paused on the seventh and there was some commotion when people in the back tried to get out.

“You _are_ my boss,” you pointed out, letting your arm glide casually against his shorts.

To your surprise, Hotch made a heavy sound and let go of your waist to grab your wrist instead, pulling it away from him. “Not right now.”

What did that mean? Was he not your boss right now or did he not appreciate the teasing right now? It was definitely a cease and desist, so you stopped grinding and tried to get your brain back online. He still held your wrist lightly, his whole muscular arm pressed against yours.

“Keep in mind how many years I’ve been in the bureau and how many people here know my face,” Hotch whispered in a soft tone when the elevator paused on the eighth floor and more people filed out. There was no reason anymore for you to stand pressed up against him, but neither moved. He cleared his throat and kept his voice low: “I’d like to make it to my room without any untimely observations, if you don’t mind.”

That was not a clear rejection, but not an invitation either. Before you could get a word out, Hotch continued:

“And when we reach the tenth floor,” the vibration from his voice passed into you, “you are welcome to join me in my room.”

Didn’t get much clearer than that though. Your body tingled at the thought. Mouth dry, you could only ask in a slightly teasing, but breathless tone: “Isn’t that a risk?”

“It is,” he agreed in that familiar business-like baritone, “and it’s entirely your call.” You both watched the number over the elevator doors go up to nine. “There is nothing to gain.”

The professional tone almost threw you for a loop and the hand on your wrist caressing the naked skin was directly contradicting. It was almost like he wanted you to persuade him, but you weren’t sure which way. There was _something_ to be gained, but maybe that wasn’t enough for him?

The elevator stopped on the ninth floor and now there were only three other people left in the elevator. Everyone faced the front and didn’t seem to notice how close you and Hotch were standing. The whispered conversation continued:

“Is there anything to lose?”

He sighed. “It won’t do any favors to your career.”

“Are you going to brag in the locker rooms?”

“No,” his answer came without hesitation and his voice remained steady, “but keeping secrets from a team of profilers won’t be easy.”

That sent a tingle up your spine. Keep _ing_ secret _s_ indicated more than a one-time romp in his hotel room. Still, you weren’t exactly sure if you were discussing or negotiating here.

“Haven’t we been doing that for months?”

“That’s different. Before it was-”

“Accidents?”

“Yes.”

Both of you remained quiet as you reached the tenth floor. The doors opened to reveal an empty hallway — Morgan either laid injured in a stairwell or had grown tired of waiting — and you followed Hotch out of the elevator.

“All due respect,” you said when the doors closed behind you, forcing yourself to not tack on the ‘sir,’ and keeping your voice appropriately low, “I don’t think I can agree with your assessment.”

Hotch kept a brisk pace down the hall to the rooms and glanced at you. “Go on.”

“The first time, yes,” you felt like you were discussing an unsub or a cold-case with him, “but each instance after was deliberate in one form or another. Opportunities seized by either or both parties.”

“There is a difference,” Hotch said, fishing out his keycard when you reached his door, “between either or both.”

He opened the door and gave it a pointed look.

By the time you had pushed inside, you had forgotten the actual reason for the invitation, too distracted by the discussion. It was only when the door clicked shut you remembered.

Not that Hotch was going to jump you immediately where he remained standing by the door. He watched you pace inside his room, slightly larger than the one you shared with Garcia. Even sweaty and in workout clothes, there was no mistaking that careful neutral expression on his face. “I need you to make a conscious decision regarding this.”

“Haven’t I already?” You folded your arms, not sure what to do with them. “On multiple occasions?”

“Active pursuit is not equal to,” his lip twitched into a half-smile, “seized opportunities.” The smile widened when your brows furrowed in confusion and he looked down briefly before he explained: “You never called.”

“I never-” You cut yourself off, only able to stare at him. “Sorry, sir, I was waiting for _your_ call.” Rolling your eyes, you corrected to “Hotch. Whatever. Statement still stands.”

His dark eyebrows rose, almost in surprise. “I thought I told you I don’t want to take advantage of my position.”

“My assumption you would call was more based on,” you shrugged, hugging yourself as the air-conditioning in his room chilled your damp top, “gender norms than a professional responsibility.”

“In theory, my professional responsibility should be to avoid these kinds of situations altogether.” He finally moved from the door to the mini-fridge under the desk, bringing out a water bottle. It brought him less than an arm’s distance from you, but you stood your ground. “But the least I can do is make sure you understand that I will respect any decision you make. It will have no impact on your position in the team or your career development.”

Even in this strange context, you recognized the timing when Hotch uncapped the water bottle and handed it over. It was a technique to give the subject more time to think, but the run had left you parched, so you accepted the water and took a slow sip anyway. And it worked, because it did give you time to think.

You handed the bottle back to him and let him have his drink before saying anything.

“Hotch,” you tried to keep the same neutral tone he did, disregarding how hard your heart beat inside your chest, “I have no problems telling or showing you that I want this, but I draw the line at having to persuade you.”

The tilt in his eyebrows, a mixture between concern and contemplation, did funny things to your insides, but you pressed on.

“Am I the actual problem or is this just your internalized guilt when you don’t have the ‘excuse’ of me literally falling into your lap?”

The concern gave away to mild amusement. “Are you profiling me?”

“Unfortunate part of the job, right?” You shrugged again and licked your lips where sweat had congealed onto the skin in salty flakes. “Have you considered _I_ need _you_ to make a conscious decision regarding this?”

Several long seconds passed where your attention centered mostly around the flutter in your stomach. While said with as much integrity as you could muster, the admission felt vulnerable in its nature and you mentally prepared yourself to leave his room with your head held high. His stare held the same careful intensity as always and as always, it did peculiar things to your body that was beyond your control.

Eventually, just as you were about to admit defeat, Hotch nodded slowly. He seemed to pull in a slight breath, as if to steel himself. “If I asked you to-”

A firm knock sounded on the door.

Heart beating for entirely different reasons, you felt your stomach do somersaults. Based on the expression on Hotch’s face, he wasn’t expecting anyone and you held your breath, not sure what to do.

_“Hotch, you in there?”_

Reid.

In synchronized movements, Hotch quietly opened the bathroom door where you had already been heading. Moving on the balls of your feet, you slipped inside and carefully closed the door behind you to avoid making any more sounds. The lights were on inside the bathroom and it was easily twice the size as the one you shared with Garcia across the hall. Despite the tense situation, you took stock of his open toiletry bag resting on the sink with what looked like a straight razor poking up from it.

_“Hang on,”_ Hotch’s voice came from the outside, obviously answering Reid. You nearly held your breath, terrified of revealing yourself, and just listened to their voices barely audible over your heavy pulse.

_“Sorry to disturb,”_ Reid’s voice came stronger, and you presumed Hotch had opened the door. _“I heard you talking on the phone and I was just wondering about those vouchers you mentioned?”_

Silence followed, and you held your breath again.

_“For the golf course?”_ Reid prompted when Hotch never answered and that seemed to have triggered Hotch’s memory.

_“Right, of course, hang on, I have them here on my de-”_ For some reason Hotch cut himself off, and you realized why when Reid’s voice came closer.

_“Morgan made me a bet that he would get two hole-in-ones in a single round,”_ Reid said conversationally and you heard the sound of his shoe-soles on the carpet in Hotch’s room, _“but I did the math and the odds are one in sixty-seven million.”_ A brief pause. _“So I’m pretty confident of my chances.”_

_“I’d guess Morgan wants a voucher as well, here you-”_ Hotch again cut himself off and sounded exasperated. _“Emily. How can I help you?”_

Knowing you had to breathe, you tried to do it as quietly as possible, realizing you should never have hidden in here in the first place. You could have just claimed you were in Hotch’s room for the stupid golf-vouchers just like Reid.

_“Nothing, just want to see how the,”_ Prentiss sounded teasing, and you realized she was also inside the room. Hotch must have left the door open, _“other side lives. Guess being Unit Chief comes with perks.”_ She let out a low whistle. _“Nice digs, boss.”_

You tried to think of a plausible explanation for your presence, not listening to the conversation out in the room that seemed to mostly be Prentiss and Reid poking fun at Hotch. By the sound of it, Prentiss did a tour of the larger room, commenting on how they got the lower end of the deal.

_“Hey, JJ, come here and check out the view!”_

_“View?”_ JJ replied while your heart sank even more. Sometimes the over-familiarity to the team dynamic was a pain in the ass. _“I’m more curious to see if the King suites really have a waterfall-shower or if Rossi was just bragging.”_

_“No, JJ, wait-”_

Shower.

Light on your feet and impossibly fast, you pushed yourself into the corner just as the door to the bathroom opened. It swung inwards, covering you from sight and you held your breath to avoid the door handle jabbing into you. It was a wonder JJ didn’t hear the way your heart threatened to burst right out of your chest.

“Okay, not bragging. Nice. Relax, Hotch, you,” her voice dimmed when the door closed again, _“thought I’d be scandalized at the sight of your shaving gear?”_

Prentiss let out a fake gasp. _“Wait, does that mean you’re an actual human being?”_

You slumped in the corner, waiting for Hotch to get everyone out of there, not catching the end of the conversation until you heard your name mentioned. It was Prentiss who wanted to know if anyone had seen you — she and JJ were heading down to the spa and had tried knocking on your door, but no one answered.

To your surprise, it was Reid who answered: _“Morgan said she just came back from a run, so she’s probably in the shower.”_ A slight beat and you were desperately curious to see Hotch’s face, how well he could maintain that neutral expression. _“Right, Hotch?”_

_“Right.”_

_“A run? It’s like a hundred and ten degrees out,”_ JJ sounded amazed, but at least her voice was fading. _“Each to their own, that’s all I’m saying.”_

If you listened intently, you could hear their footsteps and voices moving out of the room and down the hall. That left Reid.

_“Thanks for the vouchers, I’m sure you’d like to take a shower yourself.”_ It sounded like he was smiling or doing that little push back and forth on his feet. _“You’re kind of perspiring.”_

_“Yes, it’s a hundred degrees out. Good luck with your bet,”_ Hotch said in a decisive voice, and then you heard the sound of the hotel room door closing and the faint _click_ of the lock.

Not sure how far voices carried to the outside, you didn’t say anything, but rested your head against the smooth tiles of the bathroom wall. Seconds later, the door opened and Hotch came inside, closing it behind him to reveal where you slumped in the corner.

“Are you okay?”

He kept his voice soft, either to avoid making too much sound or to avoid stressing you further. Or a combination. When you glanced up, you saw nothing but genuine concern, which made something tighten inside of you.

“A little too close for comfort,” you admitted, somehow out of breath from holding it so long while ninety percent of your team had milled about outside the door.

“That’s the downside of risks.”

You nodded and forced your body to stand up straight. Trying both to keep your gaze from wandering, but unable to look at him, you asked: “You want me to leave?”

“No.”

That was not the answer you had been expecting — if he had cold feet before, you had expected the feeling to be duplicated tenfolds after that admittedly close call. Your brows twisted together as you watched him smile slightly, one side of his mouth pulling up.

“I want you to stay,” he said quietly, almost like an admission, and he took a step closer, so you were just barely not touching, “and join me in the shower.”

His words had every nerve ending in your body feel electric. The darkness of his eyes — the way he looked at you — did more things to you. Just the intensity of his gaze made your nipples tighten inside your sports bra, hardening noticeably, while a rush of warmth went to your core, tingling between your legs.

“Is that an order,” you licked your lips, catching how his eyes followed, “sir?”

A smile rested on his lips and he had somehow moved even closer. “Do you want it to be?”

You raised your chin up, parting your lips slightly in anticipation. “I’m joining you either way, sir.”

“Hotch,” he corrected, but was smiling as he did and you felt his hand come to rest on your waist, pulling you into him.

You felt on fire as you closed the distance to his mouth, keeping eye-contact for as long as possible. “Hotch.”

There was no telling if you pressed yourself forwards or if he pulled you into him — or both. Nevertheless, the kiss deepened quickly, your arms around his shoulders, his hands circling around the small of your back. He tasted fresh and warm and exhilarating, and you shuddered when he pulled your bottom lip between his teeth, biting it carefully. Not hard, but firm, and he ran his soft tongue over the spot immediately after.

Any thoughts about risks or team dynamics evaporated from your mind as he kissed you. This was worth it. Hotch was worth it. You raked your fingers between his still damp hair, letting your fingernails scratch lightly into his scalp, and you felt more than heard the sound from his chest showing his approval.

So hot, so good, so incredibly worth it.

Hotch roamed your body in return — where his deft hands had started at your waist, one went down to your backside, squeezing the soft tissue under your shorts while the other slipped back under the hem of your shirt. Skin against skin, he was so hot he felt burning and you trembled again when he ran his fingertips up the slight dip of your spine, already dewy from your sweat.

Air met your naked skin when he hooked his fingers into the fabric. Your kiss broke for a second as Hotch pulled the shirt up and off over your head, leaving you in only a sports bra, and any self-conscious thoughts melted away with how he looked at you. So much heat and desire in those eyes, it almost made you breathless. His palms ran down your back, over your naked arms, up to your neck, and bringing you back in for a kiss.

It seemed like he wanted to touch you all over and you knew how he felt.

His kisses wandered from your mouth to the side of your jaw and you threw your head back, allowing him access to your throat. Soft, fervent kisses, sending sparks of pleasure from everywhere they landed, coaxing small gasping breaths from you. One of his hands smoothed down your back to grab hold of your buttock, digging firm fingers into the muscle to pull you up closer to him. Lips back on yours, letting you taste the salty flavor of your own sweat.

You let your arms drift from around his neck, coming down over his broad shoulders and feeling his muscular arms. Lithe muscles, but firm and strong. He was so hot. And you wanted to see more. Feel more. All of him.

He obliged when you pulled on his t-shirt, doing the guy-thing by removing it neck first and you suddenly had Hotch — your boss — in front of you, shirtless and sexy as hell. Not a bodybuilder by any means, but a muscular chest covered in dark hair with a prominent line going down over his flat stomach. Marks of unnaturally smooth and pink skin, scars from bullets and blades alike. You paused briefly at the sight, knowing the stories of what happened before you joined the BAU.

“Not today,” Hotch murmured, moving your hand away from the scarrings, and reclaiming your mouth into a kiss.

Eyes closed again, you relished feeling the light scratches of his chest hair under your fingertips. It had never occurred to you that he might be self-conscious, but it did not feel like the time to vocally reassure him. Just feeling him satisfied you.

Hotch had one hand on the small of your back and pulled you into him so your chest arched forward. With the way your hips pushed together, you could feel him hard against your thigh. He planted new kisses down the edge of your throat while his other hand went over the swell of your breasts. Just brushing lightly over your hardened nipple — he definitely smiled somewhere against your skin, either at the way you trembled or the noise you made — before his fingers found the zipper in front of your bra.

It was obvious you weren’t the only one with a need to _see_ for the first time what you had only felt earlier. Hotch’s mouth left your throat to kiss you on the lips before pulling back, dark eyes traveling down to where his fingers slowly pulled down the zipper. The trepidation inside your head was ridiculous. It made no sense. Hotch had felt your breasts. He had licked and sucked and bit on your nipples until you climaxed. He had squeezed and tugged and done everything possible to them — except seeing them.

And you had to admit it made you wet just seeing _him_ unconsciously lick his lips when the zipper opened. The stretchy material of the bra went to either side of your chest and revealed you. Your nipples were impossibly hard, even more so from the sudden onrush of cool air, jutting out almost proudly for him to see. Your eyes shut on their own when his hand ran down from your collarbone, over your sternum until he cupped one of your breasts fully in his palm.

There was a delicious contrast, you thought somewhere in a haze of arousal, to how gentle he talked and how hard his hands were. Even with your eyes closed, you felt him watching you, studying you, reading your reactions as he groped your breast with strong fingers. And when his thumb and forefinger closed around the sensitive bud and pulled just a little too hard, you let out a slight moan and arched your back again, pushing your chest against his hand.

“That’s okay?” he asked in a low voice and you nodded. He rolled your nipple between his fingers and squeezed. Gentle at first, increasing pressure. “This?” More fervent nodding as you breathed hard, relishing in the aching and burning pleasure from his hand. He twisted harder, and you could feel a growing pool of wetness between your legs. “This too?”

_“Yessss,”_ you hissed through closed teeth, even though you could feel it hurt, it was still so good. So, so, so good. You suddenly realized you had one hand in the nape of his neck, pulling at his hair lightly, but he didn’t seem to mind the slightest. “Oh god.”

He pinched harder and harder and you squirmed from where he still held you to him. Your mouth opened in a silent gasp, and _just_ as it started to feel more painful than good, he eased the pressure and you practically sank into his grip.

His touch disappeared briefly before you felt something soft and wet circle the now throbbing nipple — he had wet his fingers with spit and now lazily trailed circles with his thumb, cooling it down. It didn’t take long before the blissful tingle returned and you squirmed again, just wanting some friction to your lower half.

You opened your eyes to find him watching you. His eyes were heavy-lidded and almost black, and when his hand trailed over to your other breasts, you forced yourself to keep looking at him. To keep your eyes open, to keep eye-contact, wanting him to see everything about you. So when he tugged a little too hard, pinched a little too tight, he could see exactly how much you liked it and how much it turned you on. Letting him see exactly how much you wanted this.

Judging by his erection digging into your thigh, he liked what he saw.

His hand went back and forth, pulling and pinching, watching everything about your face as he did so. How your brows furrowed, eyes rolled back at times, mouth parted, closed, opened wider — he saw every way he made you come undone with just his fingers.

Your nipples ached and throbbed from the diligent attention and you were so wet it was a wonder your shorts hadn’t started sliding down. Hotch pulled his hand up from your chest and parted your lips with his thumb. You sucked it into your mouth, twirled your tongue around it, making him slick and wet with your spit. It was for your own benefit because his hand soon went back and he slowly and carefully rolled his thumb around your nipples, easing some of the burning, making you groan in pleasure again.

“Oh god, Hotch,” you moaned as your head fell back, breaths coming in shivers and every time his fingers nudged your stiff buds, you almost trembled all over. You managed to loosen your grip on his hair, instead brushing your fingers through it, and then you pulled him closer. You wanted to kiss him again, always, never stopping and your sounds of pleasure were lost into him as he relented willingly.

“Come here,” he whispered into your mouth and you let him steer you away from the corner. Instead of the shower as you had expected, he placed you against the vanity, facing the mirror with him behind you.

His strong hands pulled the bra off your shoulders, leaving you just as bare-chested as him and you could see the deep color of your nipples in contrast to the skin around. Hotch kissed the side of your neck, ran his hands all over you, over your stomach, hips, brushing against your breasts, never lingering, just feeling and touching you all over.

His chest pushed into your back, both sweaty bodies slick against each other and you braced yourself against the countertop. He covered your body with his, parting your feet slightly with his knee, and pushed your arms further towards the mirror. You soon realized this was the same position you had ended up in the first time turbulence threw you together in the Jet. When you had initially thought his hard erect cock rubbing against you was his gun-holster. It almost made you smile, because there was no mistaking what nestled between your cheeks now.

Chest almost parallel to the countertop, it made your nipples drag over the cool marble and you glanced up to see Hotch watching in the mirror with dark eyes and a lingering smile on his lips. Like that time, he had one hand on the cabinet, the other on your hip, his erection rubbing into the wet, tight crotch of your shorts. Not like that time, he dipped his head to kiss your shoulder blade, almost in reassurance.

It made you wonder if he had fantasized about that moment as you often had. If something had flipped in his mind too, suddenly making him hyper-aware of a growing attraction and an apparent sexual compatibility. If that was his motive behind the time he unprompted gave you an orgasm by almost sucking your soul out through your breasts.

Every thought of asking disappeared when he ground into you, your privates separated by just four layers of fabric. You could feel his heat even now, how hard he was, and you loved the way his eyes closed in pleasure as he slowly rubbed his covered dick onto you. His hand shifted against your hips, edging into the waistband of your shorts, running his fingers over the newly uncovered skin. Hotch kissed his way down your spine and you remained bent over the cabinet, legs spread, your nipples touching the countertop every time you inhaled.

You stopped breathing completely when Hotch gently placed a kiss on the top of your tailbone. A jolt of electricity seemed to pass from his lips to your pussy, and you briefly wondered if you had discovered a new erogenous zone.

“This okay?” Hotch asked, lips brushing over your skin, and you realized both his hands were in the elastic band of your shorts.

First you just nodded, but then managed to say in a raw voice: “Yes.”

It was more than okay. Hotch pulled on your shorts, a new speed to his movements, and dragged them down over your ass. The panties went too, baring you completely, and it felt both intoxicating and embarrassing to be so exposed to him. He bent briefly out of sight from the mirror to yank the shorts down to your ankles where you suddenly remembered you still had sneakers on.

He made short work of both shoes and had you lift one foot at a time to rid you of all remaining garments. It left you nude, completely naked, bent over the vanity in his bathroom with him somewhere behind you seeing everything. You fought the urge to close your legs, keep them spread, wondering if he liked what he saw.

Hotch rose again, bringing you up with him, his powerful arms around you and your breasts pressed into his warm chest. He kissed you deeply before asking: “You okay?”

You loved hearing his voice. It made you feel all sorts of contradictory feelings. Safe, turned on, calm, excited — everything at once. You nodded slightly to answer him, opening your eyes to stare at his face before he gave you another soft kiss.

“Good,” Hotch said and before you knew it, he had you bent over the vanity again with a light pressure to your back.

From behind, he ran his other palm over your naked back, over your hips, squeezing your buttocks. He still wore the running shorts, his hard dick tenting out and pushing against your thigh while you were completely naked and on display for him. It made something tingle inside you, the thought of your boss, Aaron Hotchner, seeing you like this. The mirror at least gave you the opportunity to study him in return, all the hard ridges and contours of his body, the concentrated expression on his face, the uncharacteristic mess of his hair.

Not for long though — your eyes closed when Hotch ran his fingers between your cheeks and dipped into your folds, much like he had done in the elevator. The difference being both a better angle and his ability to see you. His chest expanded with each heavy breath and he teased his fingers between your slick wetness.

Unable to hold yourself up anymore, you dropped down, smothering your breasts against the countertop and arching your lower back, presenting yourself to him. You wanted him to see you, feel you, taste you — everything. Your clit throbbed, a tingle every time you clenched your opening, but his fingers were nowhere near it yet.

For a second, the only sounds were your breathing and the wet sounds of his teasing down there. His dick twitched against your thigh, and you opened your eyes to see the way his lips had parted — he was as turned on as you were, watching what his fingers were doing, seeing you bared open to him, aching and ready.

Hotch caught your gaze through the mirror and that alone made you almost vibrate, his eyes were so intense. When he moved his hand lower, using the soft pads of his fingers to rub against your clit, you gasped sharply, your breath leaving fogs in the mirror.

He took his time, using long slow movements so your knees almost buckled inwards, unsure if you wanted to close your legs or spread them wider. A constant low moan lingered in your throat as you kept arching your back, swaying your hips, nothing existing except Hotch’s long and hard fingers teasing between your inner lips, gliding over your sensitive bud. A new sweat broke out on your back, your body ablaze with the sensation of what he was doing.

Your legs trembled and when he finally probed a finger into your opening, you would have collapsed if it hadn’t been for the vanity. One finger first, gliding into you with little resistance other than your tightness. You were so wet already, open and ready for him.

“Oh god,” you groaned again and let your head drop down to rest on the countertop. “Oh god...”

Hotch made a satisfied humming sound from behind you. He must have a hell of a view, you thought, and that made you involuntarily clench around his finger again. You naked like this in front of him, bent over and on display with his finger fucking your wet pussy.

“Good?”

“Mm,” you whimpered and shivered when he turned his hand, allowing one of his other fingers to swipe up to your clit. A part of you knew what was coming, knew that Hotch knew how you liked it, but you still moaned when he added another finger inside you. So full, so good. God, you loved those fingers.

“Okay?”

“Mhm.”

The wet sounds of him fingering you filled the bathroom, only punctuated by the whimpers and gasps from your mouth. Unable to help yourself, you pushed your hips back to meet his hand every time he plunged into you, loving to hear the way his palm smacked against your almost dripping wet lips spread open by his fingers.

It was possible he was a mind-reader or he just really knew what you liked, but Hotch pulled out shortly only for him to add another finger.

Three fingers; three strong, hard fingers, pushing into you, now facing some resistance because you were too tight and his fingers too big, and it was bordering on uncomfortable, but still deliciously good.

Small sharp gasps escaped through your parted lips, and he only did four or five hard thrusts with three fingers before easing down to two, now feeling like a perfect fit, building pleasurable friction that made your body tingle all over. Over and over he drove his fingers into you, sometimes allowing some brief nudges to your clit, sometimes not.

His hand on your back ran up your spine until he reached your shoulder and pulled you up from the countertop. Fingers never left your pussy where he kept fucking you, but he held you up across your chest, his hand grabbing onto the soft flesh of our breast and his mouth planting a sloppy kiss on yours. Your eyes opened, catching glimpses in the mirror, saw the sway in your back and the flexed biceps on both his arms.

Hotch’s fingers drifted from your aching little cunt, plunging straight into your mouth, and you sucked willingly, knowing it was something he liked. Right after, he kissed you again, tongue pushing into your mouth and he groaned, tasting the same salty juices mixed with your combined spit.

“Turn around,” he murmured, sounding breathless between the heavy kisses. You felt selfish, not having touched him at all, but you soon found yourself sitting on the vanity with him between your legs. Hotch never stopped kissing you, his hands gripping the side of your hips to pull you closer, his shorts-covered dick again rubbing against your now completely naked pussy. Two layers of fabric, you thought and could feel the contours of him push at your slit.

Reaching down, you closed your hand around him and he groaned again, biting your bottom lip with firm pressure, fingers digging more into your hips. You wanted him inside of you. The flimsy material of his shorts allowed for a good grip and you dragged his head up and down your pussy, rubbing against your wetness, trembling every time you reached the top, and could use his covered dick to nudge your clit. Hotch made a dark, content sound, coming more from his chest than his mouth and your lips parted as he pulled back to look down, to see how you used him to give yourself pleasure.

“Good?” you asked, enraptured by his face, and tried to hold his gaze when he put his eyes back onto you. You loved that expression, how he almost looked angry, when you knew him well enough by now that he was anything but. You still couldn’t help yourself and raised an eyebrow before adding: “Sir?”

Hotch responded by yanking you forward, your hips now just on the edge of the counter, and his dick — still covered by his shorts — almost jabbed into you. You gasped at the contact, a sound lost when he kissed you, harder now, almost bruising your lips with his. He nipped at your lip, pushed his tongue around, completely dominating the kiss in a way that made you lose your breath.

Your wetness had seeped into the fabric of his shorts, especially around his head and you trailed your thumb over the ridges, feeling how slick it was. He was so hard he strained against the material, but your arms weren’t long enough to reach to pull his shorts down. You wanted him, all of him, naked just like you.

At least he caught on what you were trying to do. His lips never leaving yours, he shifted around — probably taking off his shoes and socks. The grip on your hips disappeared briefly before your hand closed around him, completely uncovered, and scorching hot in your palm. He pushed closer again, bringing you in direct contact in a way you had never been before. His hard dick was angled upwards, gliding between your lips, so his head slid over your clit with each thrust.

“You sure you want this?” His voice did things to you, somehow making you wetter, especially with how his mouth hovered just next to your ear. “I need you to say it.”

“I want you,” you squeezed your hand at the base of his cock, “sir.”

He grinned, less than an inch in front of you. “You call it ‘sir’, Agent?”

The tense mood lightened a bit, and you smiled. “Do you want me to?”

You laughed, loving his smile, that he was able to be comfortable around you, his warm body pressed against yours like this. He pushed closer, just hugging you as you effectively made out, and your legs hooked around him, wanting him as close as possible. You could see his eyes crinkled in what you felt was some sort of happiness when you broke off for air, his forehead resting against yours.

“I want this, Hotch.”

His nose brushed the tip of yours, catching a bead of sweat. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.” You rolled your eyes when he gave you a slightly disproving stare. “Hotch.”

With a heavy sigh, Hotch moved his hips slightly, and you could feel the head of his dick part your wet folds. One thrust and he would be inside of you, but he paused. Now you leaned into his kiss, familiar as it was new and thrilling.

He whispered against your damp skin: “Aaron.”

That made _you_ pause, eyes opening to look at him. “What?”

“Aaron,” SSA Aaron Hotchner said, his dick still resting outside your opening. There was something eerily sincere about him when he smiled slightly, even in this setting. “Call me Aaron. Please.”

It took you a second for your brain to catch up, but you nodded. “Aaron.”

Already lightheaded, you forgot to breathe at all when he slowly — agonizingly slowly — pushed forward. You were so open and ready his head slid in with only a slick wet sound. Hotch — Aaron — groaned, his head dropping forwards to rest against your shoulder. You couldn’t do anything but take shuddering inhales, hyper-focused on the sensation of being filled by him.

So hard, so hot, so perfect.

You dropped your head back as he filled you up, penetrating you inch by inch, feeling his hot breath fan out over your sweaty throat. “Oh god, Hotch.”

He let out a groan when his groin rested against your spread lips, his pubic hair scratching against you. Without moving back out, he nipped the skin on your neck. “Aaron.”

“Aaron,” you moaned and clenched around him, just feeling him filling every available space inside of you, touching pleasure spots all over. “Oh god, please, Aaron.”

“Please?” he repeated in that same low murmur that sent sparks of bliss into your system. “That’s a first.” He made another sound, a masculine dark sound, and his fingers dug into your hips again. “Ready?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

Even if you tried to brace yourself, you still let out a high-pitched moan when he pulled out only to slam back into you. Your back rubbed against the mirror, sweat making you slide over it, but you were so focused on feeling him that you hardly noticed. He was a perfect fit inside your pussy, the contours of his hard dick hitting all the right spots, and every time he pushed into you, burying his dick inside, your clit rubbed against his patch of dark hair in a way that could make you lose your mind.

God, you loved the contrasts, of how soft he spoke and how hard he fucked you.

Automatically, you braced yourself against his shoulders, allowing him to set the pace, thrusting inside of you while pulling your hips towards him. You kept making sounds; you didn’t have a chance trying to keep quiet, while he let out hard puffs of breaths. It felt so good. So, so, so good and you wanted to touch him all over, hands running over his muscular arms, dancing over his rippling abdominal muscles, tightening from the effort of shoving himself inside of you over and over again. Your legs were spread wide open, as much as you could, wanting him as close as possible and he obliged by sliding his hard cock in and out of you.

Hotch — Aaron — shifted his grip, grabbing you under your knees instead, somehow pushing your legs further apart as he used the leverage to haul you onto him. You tried to keep your eyes open, wanting to see him, wanting to see his face and body like this, imprinting it to your memory in case this was the only time. Wanting to see that furrow between his dark brows, the sweat running down his forehead, the flared nostrils as he breathed hard, the hard line to his mouth, the dilation of his pupils — everything. The sounds he made, you made, your bodies made — _everything._

And as much as you wanted to see, the building wave inside of you made you drop your head back again, struggling to even breathe. And when Hotch — _Aaron_ — seized the opportunity to suck one of your exposed nipples into his mouth, you let out a loud whimper, clenching around him, because it was just - so - _good!_

_“Oh god, oh, god, oh fuuuuck.”_

The swears rattled out of you, soft words under your breath, uncontrolled just as the rising sensation of bliss in your core. Hot air hit your nipples, Hotch groaning around it, and you realized you had dug your fingers into his shoulder harder than planned. Just as you were about to apologize, he reciprocated and bit his teeth into your already aching nipple while slamming his dick fully in you. _“Fuck!”_

The light contact to your clit wasn’t enough, and you were desperate for a release, so you tried to snake your hand between your bodies. Hotch sucked your nipple _hard_ , and you guessed it was a warning because the next thing you knew, he had your hand pinned down to the counter. He straightened up, licking your bruised lips in a hot kiss, and suddenly pulled out.

His hands moved to your inner thighs, keeping you spread, and you didn’t understand anything until he bent down and brought his face up to your pussy.

He licked you — from just beneath your tender opening all the way up to your clit. One slow swipe with his soft tongue and you bit your bottom lip to keep from making so much sound it would be audible in the neighbor suite. Without his hands holding you open, you would have squeezed your knees together, an automatic reaction that did not even make any sense because you wanted this so bad. His breath shimmered over your glistening wet lips and he did not waste time teasing you for once.

Hotch’s — Aaron’s — tongue swirled all over you, soothing the slightly raw area where his dick had rubbed and nudging your clit that almost burned with neglect. The low groan he let out made everything clench, and you bucked against his face as he circled your clit with the flat of his tongue, then increasing the pressure, using only his tip.

_“God, god, god, oh my god,”_ you kept whispering under your breath, trying to hold back the louder sounds you wanted to make. Everything until now had brought you close, closer than you thought possible, and you couldn’t help but thrusting your pussy against him, wanting to grind all over him, get that final push over the edge.

Aaron placed a kiss directly on your clit, sucking slightly so your chest jerked from the sensation before he blew soft air onto you. He spoke — planting open-mouthed kisses all over your lips, inner thighs, everywhere he could reach — between words: “Put your hand on my head.”

Just that command, that temporary transfer of control, did strange things to your heart. You didn’t need to be asked twice though, and you reached forwards, running your fingers through his still damp black strands and getting a good grip on him. You thought you felt him smile against your skin down there, but it was lost when he leaned in to suck your clit into his mouth again. His tongue, his lips, his nose — everything brushed against you and he kept a steady pace while you just pawed at his hair, loving to feel it, loving the sight of him diving into your pussy like this.

And when the pleasure built, when your hips started jerking again, your body working to get that release you craved, you didn’t fight it. You grabbed his hair, holding his face against you, and ground your incredibly wet pussy all over him. The light scratches of his stubble, the hard edge of his nose, his teeth, his tongue, his lips — everywhere. You bucked against him, wanting that friction and he flicked his tongue continuously, letting you manipulate him so he hit _just_ that one right spot that almost made you cross-eyed.

You kept swearing, kept making small gasps, kept flexing your muscles all over, shoving your thighs far apart, effectively fucking his face with your pussy. He’d pay you back, you thought, lost in the increasingly thick haze of lust. He’d let you get off using him like this, and then he’d get back up and shove his dick into you again. You hoped he would be selfish, using you, taking what he needed, as hard and fast as he wanted it.

_“Oh god, oh god, oh god!”_

The pleasure built, sparking out from your clit to every other nerve ending in your body. Every time his tongue danced around the bud, and you clenched so hard around nothing, knowing you’d get his dick back in there after and _Jesus fucking Christ this was amazing_ and you kept it up, tension getting almost unbearable and _good God you were so close_ and you just needed a little more and then instead of his tongue, your clit scraped over the edge of his teeth and you came — _hard_.

“Ahh, fuck, fuck, fuck, fu-!”

It hit you like a freight train — your entire body spasmed, trembled, bucked wildly, and Hotch that bastard sucked your clit into his mouth and you let out a sharp low whine instead of the full-blown scream fighting to get out. Eyes rolling back, mouth staying open in a silent howl, and every part of you feeling like it was on fire.

Your muscles flexed and unflexed, especially your vaginal muscles, and you felt the rush of wetness gushing out, and knowing it would coat his face only made you come harder, riding that last wave by rubbing his face all over your wet lips.

Breathing hard, you gently released his head, falling back against the wall, unable to think at all.

And again, you knew what was coming, but when Hotch planted a hard kiss on your poor sensitive clit, you trembled from head to toe. With a shuddering breath, you moaned: “Jesus Christ.”

The sight of Aaron Hotchner coming back up from between your legs was easily the hottest thing you had ever seen.

Cheeks flushed, sweat covering his forehead, his mouth and jaw covered with your juices, and his tongue coming out to lick his own lips. So hot. When he kissed you, it was more tongue than ever before, and you responded in kind, lapping up your own wetness from his face, loving how you tasted, knowing it was because of him. So fucking hot.

Without another word, his hard cock lined up against your opening and plunged in to the hilt so you could feel his balls slap against your ass. He groaned against your neck, and you felt tighter around him after your own climax, accentuated by the hot pleasure of his dick fully sheathed inside of you.

This time there were no words. No questions if you were sure or okay or ready, he just made another low growl and pulled out until only his head remained inside. And then he slammed back into you without hesitation.

“Yes,” you moaned, bracing yourself against the countertop, as Aaron tightened his grip on your thighs. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Like before, you forced yourself to watch. To see Aaron Hotchner lose control, just a little, as he fucked you just like you wanted to be fucked. There would be marks on your thighs, you noted, from his hand hands groping and pulling you onto him. You’d be surprised if you could walk properly tomorrow too with his groin crashing into yours, impaling you on his hard dick, over and over again.

Hooking his arms under your knees, he leaned forward to brace against the wall, curling you up so you nearly laid on the counter instead of sitting on it. He covered your body with his, so warm and hot and shining with sweat, and you heard every low grunt, every groan, every hard utterance of your name while he fucked you.

He picked up speed, grabbing your body to hold you steady, to allow him to fill you completely with each hard thrust. Already sensitive, you could only make small whimpering sounds against his chest, fingers scrambling for a hold on the cool marble, squeezing his dick with your inner walls. Aaron groaned again, capturing your mouth with his, giving you a hard kiss while his hard cock shoved into you.

And then you saw it. You saw that firm crease between his brows, how it deepened, and then smoothed out, eyebrows lifting.

He groaned loudly and bucked his hips forward once, twice, three times before holding himself inside of you and he felt harder and hotter inside of you than ever before, twitching and spasming, shooting his cum inside you.

So hot. So incredibly hot.

Bent over you, head resting on your shoulder, he kept his dick inside while he caught his breath. Not that you were any better, covered in sweat and still riding the high from your own orgasm. Aaron hummed, the vibration passing into your chest, and you felt the way he slid his dick in and out maybe an inch or so, gliding easily into your now doubly lubricated pussy.

That extra edge, you remembered, and squeezed your muscles around him, making him groan in both pleasure and what you could imagine was slight discomfort. You were both overly sensitive and if your muscles hadn’t felt like jello, you would have dropped your knees and cleaned him off with your mouth, only to make him shudder repeatedly.

You stayed like that for a few seconds, neither saying anything, both just breathing heavily.

Eventually, Aaron pushed himself up, hovering over you to look you in the eyes. That same fondness from the elevator on his face, one you could attribute to a post-orgasmic bliss, but you didn’t care when he kissed you again. Drops of sweat trickled from his hairline onto your face, but you really didn’t care about anything as long as he kissed you.

You cleared your throat, seeing him flinch a little when it made your muscles tighten around his softening dick. “What was that about team dynamics again?”

He smiled and exhaled slowly. “We’ll figure something out.”

“I guess you’ll be happy to hear I’m on birth control.”

“I already know you are,” he murmured, planting kisses on your jaw, “I watch you take it every morning before briefings.”

The knowledge he paid that kind of attention to you made another heat build inside of your chest, one less related to arousal, and more to something else less tangible. It also made more sense seeing as he didn’t strike you as the kind of guy willing to take _that_ kind of risk.

He continued in that same soft tone: “Along with one cup of coffee, with milk and two sugars,” his hand caressed the outside of your thigh, “one sandwich or breakfast muffin from the cafeteria,” he grunted when his dick slipped out of you and you shivered from the sudden emptiness, “and you always read the local news before the national ones.”

You studied his face, not sure what you were looking for. “Have you been profiling me, Aaron?”

“Unfortunate part of the job.” He smiled again, a full open smile that definitely made your heart ache, and pushed away from you, giving you his hand to help you down from the vanity. You needed his help, your legs shaking so much you could barely stand. “How about that shower?”

In the end, you finally did take a shower together, and you agreed with JJ — the waterfall-effect _was_ nice. Having SSA Aaron Hotchner naked in there with you was also, in lack of better words, nice.

* * *

**BONUS**

Things changed after the conference. When you made it back to Quantico, he called you. Not just once, but several times. You talked, met up, and in mutual agreement, you decided to keep things secret. At least for now.

While you weren’t technically breaking any rules or regulations — he was your boss, yes, but he did not have the direct personnel responsibility — people tended to frown upon in-house relationships as a general rule. The actual words remained unsaid, but you guessed he had his own personal reasons for taking things slow as well. Not physically slow though — he rarely made it two steps inside your apartment before you were all over each other. That was also because you were so good at keeping things professional and casual when working, that you had to let off some steam when you had the chance.

There was still the occasional touch, glance, or remark when you found yourself alone during work hours. It couldn’t be helped. But you were careful, both of you, and kept it to a minimum. From what you could tell from the rest of the team, no one suspected anything.

So a few months after the conference, you didn’t think twice about trudging up to Hotch’s office alone — it was Hotch when you were working — closer to midnight. The rest of the team had already headed home, but you struggled with your final report of the latest case and stayed behind to get this over with.

Eyes burning and neck aching, you tried to proof-read it, but hoped he would cut you some slack if there were any less obvious typos. Hotch had kept his word: your relationship did not earn you any favors from him — other than the chance to pick his brain whenever you met up outside of the office — but at least he didn’t compensate by giving you a hard time either.

“Hey,” you said and knocked softly on the doorframe, trying both to alert him of your presence and not disturb where he sat pouring over some case folders. He glanced up briefly, and you took it as a permission to enter. Placing the report on his desk, you said: “I think I’m done. Not my best work, but I hope it makes sense.”

Maybe he caught the fatigue in your tone or he happened to be done with his previous file, because he picked up your report right away and skimmed through it. “You know you have two weeks to submit this, right?”

“I know, I just,” you sighed and crossed your arms, “really wanted to get it out of the way.”

Hotch nodded in agreement — it had not been an easy case. “Looks good.” His eyes were soft and slightly worried when he looked up at you. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, almost too fast, and he raised his eyebrows in obvious disbelief. “It’s just these cases, you know, when it’s kids involved...”

You trailed off, shrugging and studying your own shoes instead of him. That meant you only heard the slight creak of his desk-chair when he got up, coming to stand on your side of the desk.

“I know. But we got him.” He placed a warm hand on your arm, tugging gently to make you come closer. “It’s over.”

It was too easy to lean into him, but it only took the edge off your dark thoughts. You tried to smile, but even that faltered. “I know, but there’s always gonna be another one, isn’t there?”

His hand stroked up and came to rest on your cheek instead. “We’ll get them too, okay?”

“Okay.”

You smiled and put your hand on top of his, wanting his warmth on your skin. You had explored almost every square inch of his body in the last few months, and lately, much of his mind too. Even though you weren’t fully sure of how casual your arrangement was, you had to admit at least you had some sort of feelings for him. He was a great guy, through and through.

Hotch smiled and cupped your face, bringing you closer to him. “Ready to get out of here?”

“Yes, sir.”

This close to him, you could see the shadow of his stubble slightly out of control since this morning when he had last shaved. You waited for his correction — it could go either way — but knew what it would be when his lips twitched into a half-smile.

“Aaron,” he said and your heart fluttered in your chest, letting him pull you in for a warm kiss. In practised ease, your hands landed on his chest, fingers pulling on his somber tie. You had been away almost the whole week, unable to come close to each other and it should not have come as a surprise when the kiss deepened and his hands ran down the side of your torso, ending up around your waist.

Part of you wanted to just close his office door and ravage him — you had specific fantasies about his mahogany desk — but that was too much of a risk.

In retrospect, leaving the door open was too much of a risk.

A soft _thud_ made you and Hotch break apart, both turning sharply to the doorway where one open-mouthed Penelope Garcia stood with a pair of empty hands and a heavy case folder by her feet. She had obviously dropped it when walking in on you.

It felt like a lifetime passed — it was probably more like a few seconds — before anyone moved. Your mind reeled, trying to come up with explanations or excuses, but the way you and Hotch stood, where your hands were, where your mouths had just been, nothing seemed plausible except the truth.

The bubble burst, you and Hotch separated as burned, and everyone started at the same time:

“Uhh, I am so sorry, sir-”

“Garcia, wait-”

“Pen, just let me-”

You and Hotch glanced at each other, cutting yourself off while Garcia rambled continuously as she swept down to the floor, trying to pick up the wayward documents. A heat rose from your spine and up, but you had no idea what you actually were going to say to her.

“-did not mean to disturb at all, let me just get these files away, I am not looking, not seeing, I did not see anything.” Garcia did not seem to pause for breath, just her alternating pitch revealing if she was talking to you or herself, and she swept up all the papers back into the folder. True to her word, she did not look at either of you and blindly thrust out the misshapen folder in Hotch’s general direction and he wordlessly accepted it. “Here you go, sir.”

“Garcia,” Hotch said in a calm voice, way calmer than you felt, but Garcia shook her head.

“No, no, sir, don’t worry,” she sounded out of breath, eyes dancing around his office, everywhere but you or Hotch, “I didn’t see anything.” Her feet slid over the floor, going backwards to the door and she added under her breath: _“Because if I saw something, that would mean Morgan wins.”_

Your face blanked. “Wins what?”

“Garcia,” Hotch said slowly, faster on the uptake than you, “is there a betting pool on us?”

Garcia winced, scrunching her face together. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Unable to get a word out, you just looked between her and Hotch.

Still slightly panicked, Garcia grinned with a distinct pink blush in her cheeks. “So if I just ignore what I saw here until after the Christmas party, I win.” She looked close to running out of there, but paused to add: “And I’ll appreciate if you can be a bit more discreet until then. It’s just me and Morgan left, everyone else thought you’d get together months ago.” Again, she made to leave, but doubled back. “You look really cute together, by the way. Okay, okay, I’m leaving.”

With that, she disappeared down the hall, heels clicking steadily away.

She left a ringing silence in Hotch’s office and you subconsciously leaned back into him, feeling his arm come around you automatically.

“You want to go talk to her,” Hotch asked slowly, glancing down at you, “or should I?”

You made a face, as if you were thinking about it. True, you and Garcia had gotten pretty close during your time in the BAU, and you knew she would demand extensive details of what was going on sooner or later. Although right now, you were so tired that it seemed like a less important issue.

“I think,” you smoothed over his lapel, picking at invisible lint, “that preserving the team dynamic is one of your responsibilities as Unit Chief.”

He raised an eyebrow, sounding amused. “You’re throwing me under the bus?”

“I am throwing you under the bus,” you agreed and patted his chest, “sir.”

“Okay.” A sigh passed through him and he stared at the empty doorway. “I’ll talk to her.” He squeezed his arm around you. “See you later?”

You slipped out from his embrace and gave him a salute. “Yes, sir.”

He cleared his throat, sending tingles into your chest, and gave you an unimpressed stare. “Hotch.”

“Hotch,” you corrected with a theatric nod, but halfway out the door, you paused and looked at him. SSA Aaron Hotchner, with a straight back, standing in his office with awards littering his bookcase and traces of your lip balm on his mouth. Despite his previous annoyance, he was smiling now, which made butterflies flutter around in your stomach.

There would probably be more changes after this, but it did not seem like the straight-up disaster you might have expected. If the team had been betting on you... well, it _was_ hard to keep secrets from a bunch of profilers. Maybe the changes would be for the better? He _was_ still smiling.

You smiled back. “See you later, Aaron.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it. Thank you for reading!
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment and tell me what you think <3

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here I tried writing a simple PWP and I ended up injecting realism and feelings into the mix. Oops, guess I am a slowburn-writer at heart. 
> 
> If you enjoyed "Elevators", please let me know in a comment! 
> 
> This is my second attempt at writing an E-rated smut/2nd-person POV and I'd love feedback on style and characterization.


End file.
